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\ 































DUnONT’S 

MINSTREL JOKE BOOK. 





































PT. RACKET 

IN THREE ACTS. 

BY ^ 

Charles Townsend. 



PRICE 25 Cents. 


This latest play by Mr. Townsend will probably be one of his 
most popular productions; it certainly is one of his best. It is 
full of action from start to finish. Comic situations follow on« 
after another, and the act-endings are especially strong and 
and lively. Every character is good and affords abundant oppor¬ 
tunity for effective work. Can be played by four men and three 
women if desired. The same scene is used for all the acts, and it 
is an easy interior. A most excellent play for repertoire com¬ 
panies. No seeker for a good play can afford to ignore it. 

CHARACTERS. 

Capt. Robert Racket, one of the National Guard. A lawyer 

when he has nothing else to do, and a liar all the time. 

Comedy Lead. 

Obadiah Dawson, his uncle, from Japan “where they make 
tea”. Comedy Old Man. 

Timothy Tolman, his friend, who married for money and is 
sorry for it. Juvenile Man. 

Mr. DALROY,his father in-law, a jolly old cove. Eccentric. 

Hobson, a waiter from the “Cafe Gloriana,” who adds to the 
confusion. Utility. 

Clarice, the Captain’s pretty wife, out for a lark, and up to 
“anything awful”.. Comedy Lead. 

Mrs. Tolman, a lady with a temper, who finds her Timothy 
a vexation of spirit. Old Woman 

Katy, a mischievous maid. Soubrette. 

Tootsy, the “Kid,” Tim’s olive branch. Props. 

SYNOPSIS. 

ACT. L. Place: Tim’s country home on the Hudson near New York. Time- 
A breezy morning in September. The Captain’s fancy takes a flight and 
tioublo begins. 

ACT. II. Place: the same: Time; the neirt morning. How one yarn re¬ 
el nires another. “The greatest liar unhung,” Now the trouble increases and 
the Captain prepares for war. 

ACT. III. Place: the same. Time: evening of the same day. More misery 
A ireneral muddle. “Dance or you’ll die.” Cornered at last. The Captain 
owns up. All serene. 

Time of playing: Two hours. 


Order a sample copy, and see for yourself what a 
good play it is. 














PREFACE. 


It has often been remarked, “Where are the new 
jokes?” The jokes are always new if well dressed up 
—brightly told and in the hands of a passably funny 
man. This collection of dialogues and jokes is the 
careful gathering of years—and only the best and 
“sure laugh” producers are incorporated in this book. 
Many of them will see publicity for the first time, and 
to thousands of readers they will all be practically new. 
Of course many of them will be familiar to profession¬ 
als, yet I venture to say that the majority of them will 
be fresh to even the professional seekers after “gags,” 
“jokes” and dialogues. I believe I have heard almost 
every joke that can possibly be of any use in the min¬ 
strel business, and also those “stolen” from us to gal¬ 
vanize life into farce comedies and English musical 
farces. I leave the reader to look through these pages 
and make his own selection of those best suited to his 
own fancies. Yours very truly, 

FRANK DUMONT. 



i 


4 


FRANK DUMONT’S JOKE-BOOK 


“ARITHMETIC OF LOVE.” 

End Man.—Did you know there was a table of love 
same as there is a table of weights and measures; or 
like this: Ten cents make one dime, ten dimes one dol¬ 
lar? 

Middle Man.—No, but I would certainly like to hear 
the table of courtship or the arithmetic of love. 

End.—Listen and I’ll tell it to you: One smile 
makes one flirtation; two flirtations make one moon¬ 
light meeting; two moonlight meetings make one kiss; 
five kisses make one engagement; one engagement 
makes two fools; two fools make one marriage; one 
marriage makes one mother-in-law; and one mother- 
in-law makes it hot for you all the time. 


FISHING. 

End.—Why is a young lady like going fishing? 

Mid.—Why is a young lady like going fishing? I 
am sure I don’t know. I don’t believe she is. 

End.—Yes she is. A young lady is exactly like go¬ 
ing fishing. Her eyes are the fish line, her smiles the 
bait, her kisses the hook, and matrimony is the frying 
pan in which the poor sucker is cooked, and his moth¬ 
er-in-law stands by to see that he’s “well done.’ 1 ' 

5 




6 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


“CLIMATIC CHANGES.” 

End.—Talk about sudden changes of weather, you’d 
ought to go to the Klondike. Oh! It’s so cold out 
there when it is cold that you’ve got to go around with 
a red-hot stove in your mouth to keep your brains 
from freezing. Two men will meet and talk and the 
words freezes and falls in front of them in chunks. I’ve 
seen whole piles of frozen conversation. Well, you 
have to pick up all this cold talk and thaw it out over a 
fire before you can find out what you’ve been talking 
about. It’s just as bad when it rains or gets hot. It’s 
so hot that a man melts right out of his clothes. I’ve 
seen whole suits of clothes walking around with no one 
in them. And, would you believe it, ice cream boils 
the moment it’s frozen. I’ve seen it so hot there and 
the rivers so low that the poor fish had to stand on 
their heads to wet their gills. My father had to carry 
a bucket of water seven miles to dump into the river so 
the steamboats could run. And rain, oh, you never 
saw such rain. It would rain so hard we could climb 
up on the rain and hold a picnic up in the clouds. Why, 
it fairly rains cats and dogs. It’s a great place for sau¬ 
sage makers. I’ve seen it rain so hard that water stood 
three feet on a slanting roof. 


“THOUGHT IT WAS A BOAT RACE.” 

End.—Saw you with a young lady last summer at 
the beach. 

Mid.—Yes, she’s a beauty. 

End.—She’s got beautiful big feet. I don’t see how 
she moves along with them. 

Mid.—Every morning she trips to the beach. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


7 


End —She couldn’t help but “trip” over those feet. 

Mid.—I mean she glides along. 

End.—She’d have to glide; sue couldn’t lift them. 

Mid.—And, sir, she cl piunge head-first into the 
water. 

End.—If she ever went in feet first she’d never come 
up. 

Mid.—I say she’d dive right in. 

End.—Just like a house falling over into the water. 

Mid.—And her dear little feet would come to the 
surface, those dear little pink soles floating, first one 
ahead, then the other, and thousands of people on the 
beach with spy glasses watching her. 

End.—I saw that. Thousands with spyglasses watch¬ 
ing her. 

Mid.—Admiring those dear little feet? 

End.—No. They thought it was a boat race. 


“TAUGHT HIS WIFE A LESSON.” 

Mid.—I understand that you are married. 

End.—Yes. I was executed last January. 

Mid.—How do you like married life? 

End. (begins to cry)— I never thought I’d be in such 
trouble. We do all we can to please each other, but it 
doesn’t seem to work. I do all I can to please her, and 
she does the same to please me. For instance, if she 
throws a stovelid at me and it hits me, it pleases her. 
If it misses me, why, it pleases me. I held her hands 
for three hours this morning. I knew if I ever let go 
of ’em she’d soak me with a rolling pin. She threw a 
lamp at me the other night. 

Mid.—That was awful. 

End.—It was full of kerosene. The lamp hit me 
and the oil ran all over my new suit of clothes. I 



8 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


couldn’t stand that. I went out and had her arrested. 
Mid.—I can’t blame you. 

End.—I taught her a lesson she’ll never forget. 
Threw a lamp at me! You bet she won’t again. The 
judge fined her ten dollars. 

Mid.—That was good. Did she pay it? 

End.—No, she didn’t have a cent. I had to pay it. 


“DUCKS AND INDIANS.” 

End.—You see some pretty strange things out west. 
Now, maybe you think this is a lie, but one day I went 
out gunning for ducks. It was a very cold day, but I 
didn’t mind it, as I had a bottle of Tobasco sauce in 
my pocket. Well, I came to a lake and, would you be¬ 
lieve it, there was over five million ducks floating on 
that lake. I aimed at them and at that moment the 
weather suddenly changed to seventy below zero and 
everyone of those ducks got their legs frozen fast into 
the lake, and I fired— 

Mid.—And killed the ducks? 

End.—No, they flew up and took the lake with them. 
If you don’t believe it I’ll show you the hole where the 
lake used to be. I was coming home disappointed 
when I heard a yell. I turned and saw forty Indians 
after me. You bet I flew. I fired over my shoulder 
as I ran, but I’d forgotten to take my ramrod out of the 
gun. Lucky thing, for the ramrod went through twen¬ 
ty of the Indians and pinned them up against a tree 
like a lot of beads on a string. Still I ran, and the In¬ 
dians after me. One fellow kept a gaining on me nearer 
and nearer. All at once he was right behind me and 
raised his tomahawk. 

Mid.—And you turned and killed him? 

End.—No, the Indian killed me. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


9 


“WE ARE ALL LETTERS.” 

End.—Every lady is a letter in the postoffice. Let¬ 
ters in the postoffice are ladies and ladies are letters. 

Mid.—What kind of a letter is a married lady? 

End.—She’s a letter that has reached its destina¬ 
tion. 

Mid.—What kind of a letter is a young lady? 

End.—She’s a letter that hasn’t been sent yet. 

Mid.—What are little babies? 

End.—Oh, they’re postal cards. 

Mid.—What kind of letters are old bachelors? 

End.—They’re dead letters. 

Mid.—Married men? 

End.—Money orders for their wives. They must 
come down with the “stamps” for new “wrappers.” 

Mid.—What kind of letters are old maids? 

End.—Old maids? (laughs.) They’re letters that have 
been overlooked in the “general delivery.” 


“MAKING BOTH ENDS MEET.” 

End.—It’s mighty hard in these times to pay your 
debts, isn’t it? But I’ve found out that it’s very, very 
easy to make both ends meet. I’ll show you in poetry 
how easy it’s done. 

You see a baby on the floor 
Biting its tiny feet, 

Let it alone, for don’t you see 
The child is making both ends meet. 

Again the butcher kills a hog, 

And takes the ears and feet, 

The tail—the nose—grinds ’em up, 

That’s making both ends meet. 



10 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

The homeless dog will stop a while 
To scratch—while in the street— 
Turns ’round to bite the festive flea, 
Thus making both ends meet 


“WENT HOME FOR HIS PIPE.” 

End.—You don’t know Flannigan, do you? Well, 
he’s very rich; made all his money building houses, 
and he lives in grand style, but he never forgets his old 
friends. 

Mid.—That’s right; never forget old friends. 

End.—One of Flannigan’s friends is named Mike 
Casey, and he often calls to see Flannigan, and they 
sit and talk and smoke just the same as they did when 
they were both poor. One night a terrific rain storm 
came up. Oh, but it was pouring, and Casey was get¬ 
ting ready to go: 

“Look here, Mike,” said the contractor as they 
reached the door, “there’s no need of your goin’ home 
in this flood. I have a shpare room upstairs. Stay over 
night wid me.” 

“All right, Tim,” replied Casey, “Oi will. The ould 
woman won’t worry.” 

The contractor summoned a servant and had Casey 
shown to the “shpare room.” Then he returned to his 
den to look over the plans of a new block he had on 
hand. The work kept him absorbed till nearly mid¬ 
night, when he was startled by a sharp ring at the door 
bell. Everyone else had retired, and he answered the 
bell in person. When he opened the front door there 
stood Casey, dripping wet, with a smile on his face. 

“How’s this, Mike?” exclaimed the contractor. “I 
thought ye was to stay all night here?” 

“So I am, me boy!” replied the smiling Casey. 
“That’s why I went home for me pipe.” 



DUMONTS JOKE BOOK. 


II 


“THE TELEPHONE.” 

End.—This is a wonderful age for inventions, isn’t 
it? Look at the searchlight, the X rays and the tele¬ 
phone. Just think how you can converse with a per¬ 
son miles away. 

Mid.—And it is improving all the time. 

End.—Certainly it is. See what a great thing it is 
for a married man, when his mother-in-law jaws him 
through the telephone. All he’s got to do is to shut 
her off. If he wants to call a man a liar he’s at a safe 
distance, and I’m told you’ll soon be able to send 
things over the wires. What a great thing it is to sit 
in your own room and make love to your girl over the 
telephone wires. Oh! dear, it must be nice—with all 
the little sparrows sitting on the wire picking the taffy 
that’s passing to and fro. 

Mid.—I’m told you may kiss your young lady 
through the telephone by a new contrivance just dis¬ 
covered. 

End.—Go on! Kiss a girl through the telephone? 

Mid.—Yes; an electric kiss. Oh, I’m going to get 
one of those telephones. 

End.—It might suit an old bald-headed rooster like 
you, but I want my electricity fresh from the battery. 


“CLANCY AS A DIVER.” 

End.—Do you like war? I began my war career the 
day after I was married. I’ll never forget my courting 
days. I was well off then, and didn’t know it. First 
night, you hold the album; second night, her dog is in 
your lap; next night, her little brother is in your 
lap; then she’s in your lap, and she’s got you landed. 



12 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


But I’ve got something of importance to say to-night. 
A scientist has made the startling discovery that there 
is poison in ice cream—enough poison in one plate of 
ice cream to kill a dozen people. You boys ought to 
make me a nice present for saying this. Come over 
and see me at the store. I’ve got charge of the glove 
counter. Do you know that different people should 
have different gloves? Blind people should have 
“felt” gloves, people who pack stuff in cases “boxing” 
gloves, whist players “rubber” gloves, the school 
teachers “tan” gloves, soldiers should wear “mousque- 
taires,” people who are fond of canines “dog skins,” 
people who like children “kids,” discarded lovers “mit¬ 
tens.” 

Mid.—What kind of gloves would suit me? 

End.—Something to match your head—“soft” 
gloves. Pat Clancy is a soft Irishman. He wanted a 
job as a diver, although he’d never been down be¬ 
neath the water, so they put a diving suit and a helmet 
on him and sent him down with a pickaxe to use on a 
ledge of rocks same as he would on dry land. Down 
he went with his pick, and for about fifteen minutes 
nothing was heard from him. Then came a pull on the 
signal rope, and they pulled him up and took off his 
helmet. “Take it all off,” yelled Clancy. “I won’t work 
in any place where I can’t spit on my hands.” 


“DREAMS.” 

Mid.—I had quite a dream last night. I dreamed I 
paid everything I owed and didn’t have a cent left. 

End.—Don’t let that worry you. Dreams go by 
contraries. I had a funny dream some time ago. I 
dreamed that a man I owed money to had died. I 
went ’round next day and, sure enough, the man was 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 13 

dead. I tried the same dream on my mother-in-law, 
but it wouldn’t work. 

Mid.—Well, sir, when I owe money it annoys me. 
Now, last night I walked the floor all night. I owe a 
man called Jones a sum of money and it must be paid 
to-morrow, and I can’t pay it. 

End.—So you walk the floor all night because you 
can’t pay him? Go to bed and sleep. Let Jones walk 
the floor. If I had my way with all the money in the 
world, do you know what I would do with it? I’d 
gather it up in one big pile and divide it equally with 
everybody on earth. Wouldn’t I have a bully time 
with my share? 

Mid.—What would you do after it was spent? 

End.—Gather it up again into a pile and divide it 
all over again. 


"SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER.” 

End.—You ought to have been down at our house 
last night. We had a double quartette. Four kids 
with the colic, and they made music, I tell you. Say, 
what kind of dresses should grass widows wear? Why 
lawn dresses, with new mown hay perfume. My 
brother married a grass widow, and they’ve got three 
little grasshoppers. He used to be a clerk in a shoe 
store. 


He worked in a shoe store, 

And once at her feet 
He proposed—who could blame him, 
When she was so sweet. 

“I came for a gaiter,” 

She said—“but I guess 
A tie would be better.” 

“Take me,” he whispered— 

She shouted “Yes.” 



i4 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


I wrote a poem to a shoemaker’s daughter and here’s 
what I said to her: 

Oh, Julie Snow, I want to know 
If I must be the “last,” 

Or “bootless” must I sit and “sew” 

On my “uppers” to be cast. 

Oh, “sole” enslaver of my soul, 

I “hide” but hope to “mend,” 

Or “shoes” to break the threads of life, 

And my days “wax” to an end. 

Oh, take my love which cannot “heel” 

Or “slipper” away from me, 

My heart is like a “patch” that’s “hammered,” 
So I’ll “peg”away for thee—That’s “awl.” 


"ORIGIN OF SONGS.” 

End.—Say, if you want a good glass of sodawater 
go down to the drug store. They give you a bird with 
every drink. 

Mid.—What kind of a bird? 

End.—A swallow. What other kind of a bird do 
you expect? 

Mid.—Oh, I don’t know. My young lady calls me 
“Dovey” and “Ducky.” I wonder why she calls me 
“Ducky.” 

End.—Because you walk like a duck. 

Mid.—I saw you going along to-day with a dog. 
Pug dog, wasn’t it? 

End.—Yes, one of those dogs turned up at both 
ends. I went into a butcher shop and asked the man 
if he had any meat for a puppy. He says to me, “Help 
yourself; the scraps are under the counter.” Say, do 
you still play poker? 

Mid.—Once in awhile. 

End.—It’s the most patriotic game an American 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOO£. 15 

can play. It’s patriotic because the chips are \ 
white and blue. 

Mid.—I’ve seen you looking blue. 

End.—Yes, and you’ve turned white when I showed 
you four aces. But I want to tell you the origin of the 
popular songs. Once a man met a deaf and dumb 
man who wouldn’t reply to him, so he went home and 
wrote “We Never Speak as We Pass By.” A young 
lady fell off the boat shooting the chutes, and the 
composer wrote “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Sulli¬ 
van wanted to tie up a package, but couldn’t find any 
string, so, in a fit of anger, he composed “The Lost 
Chord,” but do you know who composed “Only One 
Girl in the World for Me?” It was Adam in the gar¬ 
den of Eden, and Eve was the only girl in the world 
then. He had the best of it. She couldn’t bother him 
with fashion books or threaten to go home to her 
mother. She was his rib; but say, the fat woman at 
the museum (laughs), she must have been taken from 
an elephant’s rib. 


BASE BALL. 

End.—I saw a black dog change color in a minute. 
Somebody hit it with a stone and it became a “yeller” 
dog. I want to read you a little base ball poem. 

Mid.—I’ll stay if the rest do. 

End.—They’ve got to hear it: The pitcher had a 
little ball, and it was white as snow, and where the 
striker thought it was that ball it wouldn’t go. It had 
a sudden in-shoot curve, it had a fearful drop, and 
when the striker wildly struck, that ball it didn’t stop. 
“Why does the ball fool strikers so?” the children all 
did cry. “The pitcher twirls the ball, you know,” the 
teacher .did reply. The young lady that I courted be¬ 
longed to a base ball family. She was catcher and her 



i6 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


father was pitcher. She’d go out and catch the young 
fellows, bring them home, and the old man would 
pitch them out. He caught me out on the “fly” sev¬ 
eral times. I had to make a “home run.” He batted 
me all over the front stoop. Well, I had the score 
with me, but I couldn’t turn around to see it. Ever 
since then I shout with might and main: Give me 
love that’s fond and true; Chicago’s nothing, Louis¬ 
ville two. 

(Localize for any score or clubs by making the 
rhyme fit the numbers.) 


“PROGRESS.” 

End.—Give me a kiss he softly cried; she shook her 
head. You must. I’ll send you one, she softly sighed. 
That’s another sugar trust. 

Oh, your father is the meanest man I ever heard of. 
His wife asked him to get her a pet—some animal that 
would stick by her. Next day he brought home a leech 
and gave it to her. 

Mid.—My father believes in progress. 

End.4-The manner in which a human being pro¬ 
gresses is wonderful. For instance, the cotton bud 
becomes thread, thread becomes calico, calico be¬ 
comes print, print becomes a wrapper, and a wrapper 
becomes a pretty woman. Now see how a human be¬ 
ing progresses in intelligence. Take a child and give 
it a quarter. He immediately tries to swallow it. Just 
as it is. Now give a man a quarter. He turns it into 
liquor before attempting to swallow it. He knows 
that’s the best way.\ 

Mid.—I always know when I’ve got enough. 

End.—You bet you do. When you fall down you’ve 
got enough. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK 


17 


HASH FOR THE NAVY. 

End.—Say, do you know old man Little? Well, 
his daughter eloped the other night and he pursued 
them. What time was it? 

Mid.—I don’t know. What time was it? 

End.—Little after two. You ought to know these 
things. I lost my girl; all through a dog. I told her 
I’d make her a present of a dog to match her nose. 
I gave her a pug. She was an emotional young lady; 
so was her father. He expresses his emotions and I 
feel them. She’s going to marry a dude, so her father 
will have something to boot after all. He used to board 
at our boarding house. He used to sing “Oh, Would 
I were a Bird.” One day the landlady handed him 
his bill. Next day he flew. That was a great board¬ 
ing house, and I advise the secretary of the navy to 
get some of that woman’s hash and put it on our war¬ 
ships. The enemy will never attack a ship that’s got 
hash on board. 

Mid.—Why not? 

End.—Because hash is the greatest thing to repel 
boarders. 


THIEF WITH A ROMAN NOSE. 

End.—If you were tired of the world what would 
you do? 

Mid.—I don’t know. What would you do? 

End.—I’d read some other paper. 

Mid.—I saw you running with a bonnet in your 
hand. 

End.—Yes, it was for my wife. I was running like 
a crazy man, wasn’t I? I wanted to get home before 
the fashion would change. 

2 



i8 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Mid.—Why didn’t you take the cars? 

End.—Because I’m an American, and the street 
cars are run by foreigners. Your cars are run by 
poles. I want a job for the hot weather. I think I’ll 
be a bank cashier—I can be near the cold cash, have 
people come in with “drafts,” and that will raise the 
wind. I lost my coat yesterday. The man that took 
it was seen. He was a tall man with a long Roman 
nose. 

Mid.—Then he may be identified? 

End.—No. I’ll never see that thief with the Roman 
nose again. 

Mid.—Why not? 

End.—A nose like that will never turn up. 


“HAS NOT CAUGHT ME YET. 

End.—I went with a friend to the (Local) hotel and 
we had a grand banquet. Beef all over mud, cold 
slush, pickled eels’ feet, humming birds’ tongues. Oh, 
all the delicacies in season and out of season. You 
can tell how much we eat; the bill was twenty-eight 
dollars, and there was only three of us. Of course we 
each wanted to settle the bill. John wanted to pay for 
it. Tim wanted to pay for it, and I wanted to pay for it. 
We couldn’t agree, so I proposed a plan. That was to 
call in the waiter, blindfold him, and whoever he 
caught was to pay the bill. 

Mid.—That was a just way to settle the argument. 

End.—Yes; so we called in the waiter, blindfolded 
him, and turned him loose. 

Mid.—Who did he catch? 

End.—I don’t know. He hasn’t caught me yet. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


I* 


“LAWYER AND DOCTOR.” 

End.—Which would you rather be, a lawyer or a 
doctor? I’d rather be a doctor. If a lawyer makes a 
mistake you can search the records and it is brought 
up against him, but if a doctor makes a mistake it is 
buried six feet under ground. How do you like the 
idea of lady doctors? Oh, I think it’s real sweet. She 
comes in, feels your pulse, leaves medicine for you, and 
you take it quick, so she’ll come again, and she strokes 
your brow, and makes you stick out your tongue. 
There’s where you’ve got the best of her. There’s no 
end to a woman’s tongue. 

Mid.—You’re severe on the ladies. 

End.—Oh, no. They know I love ’em, but I must 
tell you about this lady doctor. A lady had two chil¬ 
dren sick with the measles, and she sent for the lady 
doctor to write her a prescription. At the same time 
another woman wrote to the lady doctor wanting to 
know how to make pickles. She wrote the prescrip¬ 
tions, got them in the wrong envelopes, sent the 
measles woman the pickle recipe and the pickle wo¬ 
man the measles prescription. The measles woman 
opened her letter and here’s what it said about her 
kids: “Scald them three or four days in hot vinegar; 
salt them until they are cured; put spices on them; 
pack ’em in a bottle and don’t forget to cork them up 
tight.” 


“COULDN’T FIND A POLICEMAN. ” 

End.—Did you hear about the burglary over in 
(Camden)? A burglar got into the house, but the 
young lady heard him and stuck her head out of the 
window, called for the police and had the burglar ar¬ 
rested. Now, there’s what I call bravery. 



20 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Mid.—I don’t see anything so very brave in that. 
Any of our (Philadelphia) girls could do that. 

End.—You don’t understand me. She called for the 
policeman, found him and had the burglar arrested. 
She was brave—very brave. 

Mid.—Any of our Philadelphia girls could do that. 
End.—No, sir. They couldn’t do it. I like Phila¬ 
delphia girls, but I say they couldn’t do it. 

Mid.—Why couldn’t they do it? 

End.—Because they couldn’t find a policeman. 


“EATING BY WEIGHT.” 

End.—Funny hotel I stopped at near Kalamazoo. 
They weighed you before you went into the dining 
room and they weighed you when you came out. 

Mid.—They charged by weight? 

End.—Yes. They had scales outside of the dining 
room and they weighed you. First time I went in they 
weighed me and I couldn’t eat anything, for I felt 
sick, but they put me on the scales and weighed me. 
They charged me three dollars. 

Mid.—That was robbery. 

End.—Yes, but I was bound to get even. Next day 
I loaded all my pockets full of brickbats. I says to the 
landlord, “Weigh me, weigh me.” He put me on the 
scales and made a note of it, and I went into the din¬ 
ing room. Oh, how I did eat. I ate from soup to wal¬ 
nuts. After I had eaten I took all the bricks out of my 
pocket and slipped them under the table. Then I 
walked out to the landlord and said, “Weigh me; 
weigh me.” 

Mid.—What was the result? 

End.—The landlord owed me seven dollars and a 
half. 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


21 


“BAD CASE OF LYING.” 

Mid.—I hear bad reports about you. I hear that 
you are growing to be a notorious liar. Do you know 
what happened to Ananias and Sapphira for lying? 
They were struck dead. 

End.—That’s so. I was there and saw them struck. 
But, really, I don’t tell falsehoods. I stick to the truth 
as much as I can. I had a brother who was a great 
liar. He told stories so well that he believed them 
himself. One day he went into a barber shop and told 
everybody there that a large whale had been caught 
at the foot of Market street. Of course the news spread 
and in a short time crowds were passing the barber 
shop rushing towards the wharf. “Where’s the crowd 
going?” says my brother. The barber said, “They’re 
going to see the whale.” My brother got up, grabbed 
his hat and says, “I guess I’ll go and see it myself.” 

Mid.—I want to relate an extraordinary thing. Last 
summer, as our vessel left Liverpool a man ran down 
to the wharf too late to embark. He plunged over¬ 
board and began swimming. He passed the ship, and 
kept right on and, sir, when we landed in New York 
there was that man on the wharf to greet us. He had 
actually swam across the ocean. Do you bdieve it? 
(End man rises and comes to him.) 

End.—Yes; congratulate me. I was the man that 
did the swimming. 


“THE MAN WHO WOULD BET ON ANY¬ 
THING.” 

End.—I sat in the train with a man who was the 
greatest gambler I ever met. He wanted to bet on 
anything, or everything. I told him I didn’t bet, be- 



22 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


cause I’m unlucky. He says, “I’ll bet you this train 
gets in on time.” I says, “No, I won’t bet.” Then he 
says, “I’ll bet you it won’t get in on time.” I says 
“No, I won’t bet.” He says, “I’ll bet you that you’re 
not alive.” 

Mid.—There was a chance for you. 

End.—No, I was afraid I’d die before the bet could 
be decided. Then he says, “I’ll bet you that this train 
isn’t on the railroad tracks.” I says, “I won’t bet at 
all.” Just then there was a terrific crash. We had 
run into another train. Oh! I never saw so much hash 
in all my life. Away I went—up in the air—me and 
the smokestack. As I was coming down I met my 
gambler friend just going up. He waved a ten dollar 
bill at me and shouted, “I’ll bet you ten dollars I go up 
higher than you did.” 


EDUCATED HORSE. 

Mid.—I saw you driving a queer looking horse. Oh! 
but he is thin. What makes his ribs stick out so? 

End.—Why, he’s so fat inside that it pushes his ribs 
out. That horse is blooded. I have to tie him to a 
post. 

Mid.—To keep him from running away? 

End.—No, to keep him from falling down. But 
once he was a great horse. I had a milk route and, 
would you believe it, that horse knew every customer 
I had. I’d drive around and all I had to do was holler 
“Milk,” and he’d stop—no matter what he was doing 
or thinking about, or how fast he’d be going. Just 
yell “Milk,” and he’d stop quick. 

Mid.—Wonderful horse. 

End.—And he was sure footed. He kicked me three 
times in the same place. I entered him for a race at 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


23 


the state fair. We started and my horse went like a 
flash. He couldn’t stop. First quarter he was ahead. 
Second quarter he was pufling and going like a loco¬ 
motive. Coming in on the home-stretch, away went 
horseshoes and all, but he kept right on. Just as I 
was coming up to the judge’s stand, and about to win 
the race, some snoozer in the crowd hollered “Milk,” 
and my horse stopped. 


GRATITUDE. 

Mid.—Talk of gratitude! It is one of the grandest 
things in this world. Even the dumb animals are 
grateful. 

End.—Yes; I know you are. 

Mid.—Let me relate what occurred lately. A poor 
miserable sparrow came fluttering into my open win¬ 
dow. I gave it crumbs of bread and water. It chirped 
its thanks to me. 

End.—Do you understand bird language? 

Mid.—I understood that bird’s song of gratitude. 
It flew out. It told all the other sparrows and, sir, one 
by one they flew into my room, and the house is now 
full of sparrows. That is an example of gratitude. 

End.—I had a case of that. I was coming home 
one night and found a poor dumb cat. I picked it up, 
brought it home, gave it terrapin stew, frogs’ legs and 
mushrooms, and, sir, that poor cat mewed its song of 
gratitude to me. It went out and told all the other 
cats for miles around—Tommy, Tabby, Maria, Speck, 
Jenny, and the whole mob. They filled the yard and 
mewed all night. They danced on the fence. They 
came into the house. There was gratitude for you, 
and now the house is full of fleas. 



24 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


“THE LOST UMBRELLA.” 

End.—I saw you in church last Sunday. I was 
there. I contributed towards the new window they’re 
going to put in the colored church. I believe it’s 
necessary these warm nights. 

Mid.—I dare say you have reformed in a great many 
things. You do not steal any more chickens? 

End.—No, indeed. I’ve joined church. 

Mid.—Nor any turkeys? 

End.—No, sir. I tell you I’ve reformed. 

Mid.—Nor any geese? 

End.—No, sir; no, geese. 

Mid.—I’m glad to hear that. 

End. (to man next to him)—If he had said ducks 
he’d a had me. But say, I lost my umbrella that day, 
but I didn’t make a fuss over it. I just got up and said. 
“Brethren and sistern, I’ve lost my umbrella. I know 
who took it. If my umbrella isn’t returned to me by 
next Sunday I’ll get up here and mention the name 
of the man that stole my umbrella. 

Mid.—What was the result? 

End.—Next morning my yard was full of umbrellas. 


COLONEL PEPPER OF PEPPER COURT 
HOUSE, N. C. 

End.—“You never heerd tell of Kurnel Pepper, 
have you? Well sah, he’s one of our mos’ prominent 
citizens and a puffect gentleman, sah. Finest family in 
the state, and brave as a lion, sah. He done fit all 
through the wah and never did surrender! He was 
born and raised right yere in North Car’lina, and as I 
said before, never did surrender!” 

The speaker edged up nearer to the bar and con- 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


25 


tinued: “He’s as gentle as a baby, and wouldn’t harm 
a fly. He shot three men in this yere town, but he’s a 
puffect gentleman, and was puffectly justifiable, sah, 
puffectly justifiable. How did it happen? You mean 
the las’ one he shot? Oh! he done shot him, sah, in 
self-defence! You see the Kurnel was born and raised 
right yere in North Car’lina, and fit all through the wah 
and never did surrender! He’s a puffect gentleman— 
only he can’t stand an insult, and he’s very techy, very 
techy, and his honor, sah, is more than life! ’Cause he 
done fit all through the wah and never did surrender. 
I’ll tell you how he came to shoot his las’ man. He 
was standing right yere near the bah—well, the Kurnel 
don’t know much of anything, so he spends a great 
deal of his leisure right yere in the bah room. Every¬ 
body knows the Kurnel and says ‘How d’ye’ to him, 
for he was born and raised right yere in North Car’lina 
—well, the Kurnel was a standing down by the end of 
of the bah a sampling a little cracker and cheese—for 
the Kurnel is very fond, sah, of a little cheese and 
cracker, and everybody knows him, for he was born 
and raised right yere in North Car’lina—fit all through 
the wah and never did surrender—well, sah, as he was 
standing there, in comes a puffect stranger with a tall 
silk hat, and never noticed the Kurnel more than he 
was a dog, or a niggah sah! Now everbody says ‘How 
d’ye’ to the Kurnel, for he was born and raised right 
yere in North Car’lina, and fit all through the wah and 
never did surrender—well sah, this puffect stranger 
walked up to the bah and called for some whiskey— 
the Kurnel heerd that and in a moment he was all at¬ 
tention, for he’s a good judge of licker, sah, very good 
judge of it, for he was born and raised right yere in 
North Car’lina—well sah, the stranger pored out the 
licker and the fumes of it reached the Kurnel’s nostrils, 
and his mouth ’gin to water, for he was born and raised 
right yere in North Car’lina and never did surrender— 


26 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


well sah, the stranger filled his glass and never noticed 
the Kurnel more than he was a dog, never even said 
‘How d’ye,’ and everybody asks the Kurnel to ‘jine 
him’ at the bah. This puffect stranger didn’t say any¬ 
thing no how to the Kurnel, and his blood began to 
boil, sah, for he was born and raised right yere in 
North Car’lina and never did surrender—well sah, this 
stranger deliberately raised the whiskey to his lips and 
drank it down, drank it down right before the Kurnel’s 
face, never noticing him more than he was a dog or a 
niggah! And the Kurnel was born and raised right 
yere in North Car’lina and fit all through the wah and 
never did surrender. Then the stranger paid for his 
licker and started to walk out of the bah room, never 
noticing the Kurnel at all—well sah, that was adding 
insult to injury—a man can’t stand everything, and his 
honor, sah, can’t be insulted by a stranger, specially 
when he’s born and raised right yere in North Car’lina; 
fit all through the war and never did surrender—well 
sah, just before the stranger reached the doh, the 
Kurnel pulled out his pistol and shot him in the 
back. Everbody said he was puffectly justifiable, 
sah, for his honor had been insulted grievously. For 
he was born and raised right yere in North Car’lina, 
fit all through the wah and never did surrender. The 
jury done acquitted him honorably, sah, honorably. 
Who am I? Well, sah, I’m Kurnel Pepper hisself, and 
if you don’t ask me to have some licker I’ll bore a hole 
through your Yankee carkiss darn quick, for I’m 
thirsty, and yere’s my pistol right yere.” 


WHY IS A SHIP CALLED “SHE”? 

Mid.—There has been some discussion of late—why 
is a ship called she? 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


27 


End.—I’ll answer that for you. A ship is called she 
because she’s trim and got a nice waist. Sometimes 
they run after a smack under full sail. A ship is called 
she—because it takes men to manage them; a ship is 
called she—because they bring “news” from abroad; 
a ship is called she—because they make up to a pier 
(appear). 

Mid.—I dare say they like you to bow to them? 

End.—Oh, yes; they know the ropes. And a ship is 
called she because she’s been often seen with a man-of- 
war, and may be attached to a “buoy.” And, finally, a 
ship is called she—because the rigging is worth more 
than the hull. 


“WHAT IS LOVE?” 

(For the climax of this story use the name of some 
grasping “corporation” or “ring.”) 

End.—It seems to me I’m very unlucky. If it was 
raining soup I’d be sure not to have a spoon in my 
pocket. Now, one day I found a pocket-book with a 
thousand dollars in it. 

Mid.—That was good. 

End.—No, it was bad—for I bought a lot of sheep 
with the money. 

Mid.—That was good. 

End.—No, it was bad—the sheep all died. 

Mid.—That was bad. 

End.—No, that was good —I Sold all the hides and 
bought a house. 

Mid.—That was good. 

End.—No, that was bad—the house burnt down. 

Mid.—That was bad. 

End.—No, that was good—my wife was in the house 
when it burned. You’re married, aren’t you? 



28 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Mid.—Yes, happily married. 

End.—Then tell me, what is love? 

Mid.—Love is a small decoction of electric fluid 
wrapped up in a woman’s heart. Man’s heart is made 
of steel; woman’s heart is made of flint—both striking 
each other creates a spark which burns into love. 

End.—No, sir; that isn’t love. 

Mid.—What is love? 

End.—Love is the only thing in this city that isn’t 
controlled by “The Traction Company.” 


“WE ARE ALL BOTTLES.” 

End.—I was talking to a friend, and as you passed 
us he says to me: There goes that old bottle. He 
called you a bottle. (Laughs.) 

Mid.—You allowed him to call me a bottle and 
didn’t upbraid him? 

End.—No; we are all bottles. You’re a bottle—I’m 
a bottle—we are all of us bottles—and I’ll prove it to 
you. A musician is a “sound” bottle; people who pre¬ 
tend to be sick are “sham-pain” bottles; you are a 
“cracked” bottle; young ladies are “scent” bottles; 
wash-women are “soda” bottles; doctors are “physic” 
bottles; Irishmen are “green” bottles; your father is 
an old “pop” bottle; a nigger is an “ink” bottle; a baby 
is a “nursing” bottle;, a policeman is a “blue” bottle—a 
sort of invisible green sometimes; your brother is a 
“beer” bottle—always full, too; and old maids— 
(laughs). 

Mid.—What kind of bottles are old maids? 

End.—“Vinegar” bottles. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


29 


“EDITING A NEWSPAPER.” 

End.—Say! I fell out of bed last night. 

Mid.—You slept too near where you got in. 

End.—No; I slept too near where I fell out. 

Mid.—You expect the unexpected in circumstances 
of that peculiarity. 

End.—What’s the matter with you; you’ve changed . 
your boarding house again, haven’t you? 

Mid.—Is it possible that my hyphenated sentences 
are entirely too complex for the intellect contained in 
that diminutive cocoanut? 

End.—Hold on, you allegorical hypothesis; don’t 
give me any of your chin music. I know something 
about language myself, for I started a paper once. It 
was called “Blood”—but it had very poor circulation. 

It was a tri-weekly,—it came out one week and tried 
to come out the :iext. Where’s your brother, the 
editor? 

Mid.—A horse ran away with him and he’s been laid 
up for two weeks. 

End.—Same thing happened to my brother. He 
ran away with a horse and he’s been laid up for two 
years. 

Mid.—What became of your newspaper? 

End.—Busted up. All the old maids in town would 
go around and tell the news before I could print it. 


“LIQUOR ASSISTS NATURE.” 

End.—(Begins by singing.) 

My mother was a lady— 

She never lost a chance 
To let the neighbors see that 
She wore my daddy’s pants. 



3^ 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


She’d wipe the floor up with him 
When she was full of beer, 

You bet that I could prove it, too, 

If John Sullivan was only here. 

Mid.—Your singing is a misfortune to anyone, and 
an accident to yourself. 

End.—What is the difference between an accident 
and a misfortune? I’ll tell you. If you fell into the 
river, that would be an accident; if anyone saved you, 
that would be a misfortune. You see that’s also and 
likewise. 

Mid.—Also and likewise mean one and the same 
thing. 

End.—Oh! no; there’s a difference. Now, for in¬ 
stance, Robinson is a lawyer, isn’t he? He is also a 
gentleman; he is likewise honest. You are also a law¬ 
yer, but you’re not likewise. 

Mid.—Where are you working? 

End.—In a pistol factory. 

Mid.—Funny you don’t get ‘‘fired.” 

End.—I never get “loaded.” 

Mid.—Do you know that liquor is a bad thing. 

End.—I claim that liquor assists nature. 

Mid.—Not a bit of it. Now, when I drink liquor I 
feel like a perfect fool. 

End.—That’s what I said—it assists nature. 


“THE MIND READER.” 

Mid.—Where have you been keeping yourself? 

End.—I’ve been out west, seeing how near I could 
come to starving to death. I wrote home to my father. 
He’s fond of poetry, so I “touched” him with a poem. 
I says, dear father: 

If you love me as I love you 
Send me fifty quickly—do. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


31 


Mid.—Did he reply? 

End.—Yes; he said: My dear son— 

The rose is red—the pink is pink— 

I send you fifty—I don’t think. 

So I didn’t get it. I was always unlucky, but I’ve 
got a problem for you. Get out paper and pencil. 
(Middle does so.) Now there’s a man who has got 
five hundred pigs—got that down? (Yes.) And there 
is one man to feed them all—got that down? (Yes.) 
Now, there is one bucket of swill—have you got the 
swill down? 

Mid.—Yes. 

End.—Well, how does it taste? (Mid. angry.) 
Don’t get angry—I was only fooling. I’m a mind 
reader. Write anything you like on that card and I 
will tell you what’s on the card without looking at it 
or coming over to you. Are you ready? 

Mid.—Yes. (Writes on card.) 

End.—Now place it on the floor—(Mid. obeys in¬ 
structions)—place one foot on the card, now place the 
other one on it. 

Mid.—Well, what’s on the card? 

End.—The biggest fool in (Philadelphia—localize). 


“THE BURGLARS.” 

End.—I don’t feel well—I’ve met with a great loss. 
Father made me a present of a span of fine horses, and 
the other night a thief broke into the stable and stole 
one of the horses. (Begins crying.) 

Mid.—Don’t cry about it. Take my advice—pray, 
pray that the thief may undergo a change of heart—• 
become conscience stricken and return the horse. 



32 


DUMONTS JOKE BOOK. 


End.—Father told me that, too, so I prayed for the 
thief to come back all one day. 

Mid.—But you must keep it up. 

End.—I did. I prayed all next day for the thief to 
come back. Oh! how hard I did pray. And I prayed 
all of the next day for the thief to come back. Sure 
enough, on the third night the thief came back. 

Mid.—See, I told you so. 

End.—Yes, he came back and stole the other horse. 
My two aunts are old maids and they helped me to 
pray, too. One night a burglar got into the room 
of ’Tilda and she began to yell “man in the room—man 
in the room.” The old maid next door shouted, “shut 
up, you fool; you’ll scare him out.” 


“THE PARSON’S SERMON ON CRAP¬ 
SHOOTING.” 

End.—I attended the colored church Sunday night, 
and there was trouble, and all about crap-shooting. 
The colored preacher got up this way (puts on specta¬ 
cles), and he came down front and started in this fash¬ 
ion: “Dars a heap of gambling and crap-shooting 
a-going on in dis congregation, and it’s got to stop. 
It’s a-interfering wid de receipts ob de church. Here’s 
de church roof a-leaking and it can’t be fixed ’cause 
dar’s a lack of money in de treasury. ’Stead of money 
I finds lead nickels, counterfeet quarters and poker 
chips on de plate. I don’t know whar to redeem de 
poker chips, and lead money ain’t no good nohow. I 
finds buttons ’mong de plate collecshun too, some wid 
very sarcastik ’sinuations on dem—one button had on 
Tell dem dat you saw me,’ and nudder one ‘Who’s 
baby is yoo?’ I jist wish I had hold of de niggers dat 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


33 


put dem buttons on de plate—I’d tell ’em dat I saw 
’em—and I’d let ’em know who’s baby I am mighty 
quick. We needs a new window in de church for dese 
hot close nights—but we can’t get it—’cause why? No 
money’s been a-contributed. I needs a new hat! Can’t 
get it—’cause why? Stingy niggers ain’t a putting 
money on de plate like usual. Can’t lay it to de hard 
times! No indeedy! It’s craps! Craps is a-getting 
your money and so is policy. Some of you sinners go 
to sleep right here in dis church and dream of numbers. 
It’s got to stop—and I warns you I’m going to prevent 
dis wicked practice. See de trouble and danger dat 
rises from crap-shooting. Dar’s dat good pillar ob de 
church, Deacon Jackson, dat’s a-suffering from a lot 
of lacerations done on him by a razor. Yes—come 
nigh a-taking ob his life wid one slash of a razor by a 
wicked crap player. De good deacon merely reached 
down to take some money dat he thought was his’n— 
when de sharp blade mos’ cut him in half. It’s a-insult 
to Deacon Jackson—it’s a-insult to your pasture. I 
had done loaned Deacon Jackson money to go into dat 
game—and I take it as a pussonel attack on me. Is 
your pasture to be attacked right here in de pulpit? Is 
he to be sacred in de eyes ob dis congregation? Or is 
he to be swiped wid a razor by a sinful, wicked crap 
player—by proxy? Dat’s how matters stand to-night. 
We are on de volcano of a social eruption! On one side 
is your pasture—de church and de female and de male 
lambs ob dis congregation. On de odder side is de 
wicked, sinful gamblers wid murder in dere hearts— 
winning all de money from de good Christian members, 
ob dis flock, so dey can’t contribute when de plate is 
passed ’round. Deacon Jackson used his own dice— 
dice dat never fails when left in de good deacon’s hands, 
but dar’s a lot ob suspicious people ’round here who 
examines things too close. By and by a man can’t 
use his own dice widout a razor is flas 1 front ob his 


34 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


face and his ’natomy carved up. Dis mistrust is got to 
stop right now, or we’se in danger of a conflict between 
your pasture and de Philistines of dis flock. Dis gam¬ 
bling can’t go on no furder until de good deacon’s life 
is secure. Why! de idea is simply preposterous dat de 
wicked men ob dis flock can attack de pillars ob de 
church wid impunity. And ’nudder t’ing! Dar’s been 
a-heap of chicken stealing goin’ on lately. Stop 
squirming and looking at each odder out dar—I ain’t 
mentioned no names—but I’se got my eye on de 
delinquents. I knows who de robbers am—and I 
knows who’s been feeding on chickens lately. I didn’t 
care as long as de depredations was carried on ’mong 
de ungodly white pusscns, but when it comes to ob- 
ing my chicken coop I must protest and call a halt. 
When your pasture’s hen coop is no longer sacred and 
it can be entered just like white trash’s coops, den I 
say ‘Woe—woe unto Israel.’ Just think, my belubbed 
hearers, your pasture’s chickens stolen right under 
his nose by members of dis flock. Who among us 
is safe? Who among us is to be spared from Pha¬ 
raoh’s agents—from Herod’s assassins of pullets and 
fat roosters? I had collected all dem chickens myself 
—losing many a night’s sleep to get de different breeds 
I had in dat coop. How many is left to me now? Just 
one ole hen and a patriarch rooster too ole to crow. 
Dem niggers can see in de dark to pick out all dem 
young and tender fowls I once had. Dis is de un- 
kindest blow of all—to rob your pasture and leave 
him tough birds to feed on. Can’t get anudder col- 
leckshun like I had ’cause de neighborhood is sus¬ 
picious and spring guns and dawgs are around to en¬ 
force honesty. I stand here in dis pulpit a grieved man 
—an injured man—insulted—robbed and treated like 
a ordinary mortal—but I want to say right now dat 
I saw fedders in front of certain people’s doors—and I 
can identify dem fedders. De only way to secure sal- 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


35 


vation and forgiveness is to contribute liberally when 
de plate’s passed ’round. And I might suggest dat 
somebody invites me to a chicken dinner. Give me a 
chance to taste some ob my own spoils. I warns you 
against de crap playing and de sin of examining too 
closely de dice used by such honest, upright pillars ob 
de church as Deacon Jackson. Remember de fate ob 
Lot’s wife—she was told not to look, but she did look, 
and was turned to a pillar ob salt. Dar will be a whole 
lot of salt pillars ’round here, if you fool wid your 
pasture any more. Brudder Wright will pass de 
plate ’round while I sharpens my razor on my shoe. 
De man or woman dat fails to contribute liberally will 
be cut from head to foot like a shad ready for briling. 
Good evening, everybody.” 


"KISSING IN THE TUNNEL.” 

End.—I believe it ought to be share and share alike 
in this world. Now for instance: A loving young hus¬ 
band of this city possesses a pretty young wife and a 
sweet iittle baby who is as good as he can be in the 
daytime, but who has a penchant for making the mid¬ 
night air resound with his cries. The dear little thing 
was giving his usual concert several nights ago. His 
audience was tired out. The “happy father” was try¬ 
ing hard to persuade the old sand man to fill his eyes 
and transport him to the land of Nod. Still the baby 
yelled. 

“Dearest,” growled this loving young husband, 
“hadn’t you better get up and walk around the room 
and get your baby quiet?” 

“My baby,” responded “Dearest;” “well, I think 
about one-half of it is yours!” 

“Oh, I don’t care how much noise my half makes,” 



36 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

answered the villain. “You just keep your half still.” 

Do you like children? I do—but not all the time. I 
don’t like them in railroad cars at night. There was 
a couple sat right in front of me and they had a six- 
months old baby, and he had lungs like a locomotive— 
oh! how he did yell when he started in. The father 
stood it as long as he could, then he pulled out a bottle 
filled with milk—with a rubber nozzle to it—and 
handed it to his wife and says, “Mary, plug that kid.” 
There was another couple on the train, and every time 
we struck a tunnel I could hear them—yum-yum-yum 
—oh! I couldn’t stand it. I had to change my seat 
twice. There’s a town on that road called “Sawyer,” 
and there’s a tunnel just before you get to it. That 
couple went to work kissing just as we entered the tun¬ 
nel, and they were still holding on to each other as the 
train came out of the tunnel. The conductor opened 
the door and yelled out “Sawyer.” The girl screamed 
back, “I don’t care if you did; we’re married!!” 


“MISSED THE HEARSE.” 

End.—Do you remember Mulcahey? Well, he’s 
dead. Just before he died I called on him and says, 
“Mac! can I do anything for you?” He says, “No, I’ll 
do my own dying, but here’s twenty dollars to treat the 
boys on the day of my funeral.” I says “Will I spend it 
going out to the grave or coming back?” He says, 
“Spend it going—I’ll not be with you coming back.” 
So off we started. Jim Smith and I walked behind the 
hearse. We didn’t dare look up, you know. We had our 
eyes covered bv our hands to appear grief-stricken. 
Finally we turned a corner and still kept our eyes down 
—but an awful smell came from the vehicle. I surely 
thought Mulcahey would have kept better than that. I 
says, “Jim, this is awful! Look up.” Jim says, “No, I’ll 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


37 


stand it awhile longer; I want to show respect for the 
dead and don’t wish to look up.” I says, “Oh! it’s 
perfectly awful on a warm day like this—Mulcahey 
must have been dead a long time before he died. Look 
up anyway.” And we both looked up, and what do you 
think? 

Mid.—What? 

End.—We’d both missed the hearse, and we’d been 
following a swill-cart. 


“NEVER HAPPENED.” 

Bridget once the fire lit, 

It didn’t want to burn; 

But finally a plan she hit 
To make it serve her turn. 

The kerosene she did apply; 

O’er wood and coal it flowed, 

And then she winked the other eye— 
For the can did not explode. 

The shotgun in the corner stood 
And seemed quite free from guile, 

When Willie in a sporitve mood, 

And with a winning smile, 

Threw up the gun with deadly aim, 
Saying, “Tom, stand from my road!” 

Successful was his little game— 

The shotgun had no load. 

Mike sits upon a powder keg 
And smokes his pipe of clay. 

“Come off o’ that,” his neighbors beg; 
But Mike ain’t built that way. 

The smoke curls upward round his head, 
The sparks fly through the air, 

But with it all he isn’t dead— 

There was no powder there. 


“KEEPOFFTHEGRASS.” 

The shades of night were falling fast, when through 
the park a traveller passed, who read a sign upon the 




3 $ DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

ground, that did his senses much confound—“Keep- 
ofifthegrass.” 

No grass was there to greet his eye, the snow was 
piled up mountain high; yet from the drift the sign 
stuck out, on it appeared with nary doubt—“Keepofif- 
thegrass.” 

“Try not the drift.” the park guard said; uplifted 
was his haughty head. “Try not the drift for sure as 
sin, if you do that I’ll run you in—‘Keepofifthegrass.’ ” 

“Across the path the drift has blown, there’s no way 
out, you’ll surely own, in which the risk will not be 
found, of treading on this sacred ground—Keepoff- 
thegrass.” 

“What’s that to me?” the guard replied, as swelling 
with a conscious pride, he swung his club with hideous 
grin—“step on the grass, I’ll run you in—Keepofifthe- 
grass.” 

The traveler knew the dangerous pass was lined on 
either side with grass, but both were covered with the 
snow; he knew not then which way to go to—“Keep¬ 
ofifthegrass.” 

The air grew icy cold and chill; the stars came out 
and all was still; the guard retired to his box and 
combed icicles from his locks—“Keepofifthegrass.” 

And when the morning light came round, the trav¬ 
eller in the drift was found; and o’er his snowy grave 
there stood that sign—made out of store boxwood—■ 
“Keepofifthegrass.” 


IT RUNS IN THE FAMILY. 

My fodder’s got er safety—hully 
Gee! but she’s a flyer! 

She’s got them bast ball bearin’s on, 
An’ er rheumatic tire. 

An’ mudder’s got er safety, too; 

She’s got a jo, yer bet! 

An’ when it come t’racin’, 

Ain’t nobody beat ’er yet. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


39 


An’ sis—she’s got er safety, wid 
A frame ’at’s painted red. 

She rides it proud and stuck up—says 
It’s got the ‘ pebble tread.” 

An’ brudder jim’s a safety. It’s 
A yeller feller bike. 

He’s alwuz ridin’ fancy, doin’ 

Circus tricks an’ like. 

But th’ ain’t none on ’em in it wid 
Our baby—don’t yer grin; 

She’s got er little safety, but— 

But it’s jus’ a safety pin. 


THE OLD CIDER BARREL. 

How clear to my vision’s an old cider barrel, 

As fond recollection presents it to view; 

The place where it rested, down in the dark cellar, 

Is as fresh in my mind as it ever was, too! 

The old whitewashed wall, and the bins that stood by it, 
The apples, potatoes and things that were penned 

Up there in the cool and the damp-bottomed cellar, 
Where the old cider barrel stood up on one end— 

The old cider barrel, the hard cider barrel, 

The iron-hooped barrel that stood up on end. 

Once armed with a gimlet, I went to that barrel— 

Dear father and mother had gone for the day; 

I bored a small hole, and I put a straw through it, 

And for half of an hour kept sucking away. 

I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 

Till things in my vision seemed softly to blend, 

And I couldn’t have told whether I or the barrel 
Was lying or still standing up on one end— 

The old cider barrel, the hard cider barrel, 

The iron-hooped barrel that stood up on end. 

Somehow I got out of the old whitewashed cellar, 

And whooped and hurrahed and was merry awhile; 

They say that my shouting aroused all the neighbors 
Who lived in a circle of less than a mile. 

At last my fond parents came home from their visit, 

And then to my case did dear father attend! 



40 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Oh, golly! I feel that old strap at this minute! 

And I swore off on barrels that stood up on end— 
The old cider barrel, the hard cider barrel— 

I’ve sworn off on barrels that stand up on end. 


“THE TRANSFUSION OF BLOODS 

Mid.—Didn’t I see you at work with a brush and 
paint pot some days ago? 

End.—Yes—painting a house—making it warmer. 
I gave it two coats. 

Mid.—I’m something of an artist, myself. I drew 
a glass of beer on my canvas so natural that I felt like 
drinking it. 

End.—That’s nothing. I saw a man draw a glass 
of beer so natural to-day that I did drink it. But, say— 
have you heard of the new treatment—transfusion of 
blood? It’s a great thing. I’m working for the doctor 
that’s practicing it. First case we had was a man 
who was very sick. We put the blood of a chicken 
into him. The next day he was setting on a bale of 
hay trying to hatch it. Then another very feeble man 
came in and we put a mixture of goat’s blood in him— 
and cat’s blood. 

Mid.—How did it work? 

End.—The first day he butted his mother-in-law 
down stairs, and that night he sat on the fence holler¬ 
ing “Maria” all night, and trying to fight Tom cats. 

Mid.—It must be a wonderful treatment. 

End.—I guess it is. There was an old gentleman 
passing along and he fell apparently dead to the side¬ 
walk. At that moment an Irishman fell off a ladder. 
We went up quick and got some of the Irishman’s 
blood and injected it into the old man’s veins. It was 
an instant cure—old man got up better than he ever 
was. But he’s surprised and astonished all his friends. 
He used to vote the republican ticket, but since he’s 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 41 

got the Irishman’s blood in him he’s a democrat to the 
backbone. 


“SINGING AT THE PARTY.” 

Mid.—Did you hear me sing at the party last night? 
I sang “Home again from a foreign shore.” How did 
it seem to impress the company? 

End.—Most of ’em felt sorry that you got back. 

Mid.—Miss Jimpson seemed delighted, and she 
sang for me. I told her I was completely carried away. 

End.—I saw you after the party. There was two 
men carrying you. When I got up to sing there was 
a commotion, I tell you. I sang “Oh! let me like a 
soldier fall.” One man said if he had a gun he’d make 
me fall quick. One man threw an egg at me. I 
wouldn’t have cared only the egg was a back number 
egg. It wasn’t exactly bad—but the hen that laid it 
must have had a grudge against the farmer. Then a 
dude got up and sang “I feel thy presence ever near 
me.” I guess there was a flea on him. Then an old 
grass widow got up and sang “Oh! take me home; 
oh! take me home.” There was twenty-two verses. I 
don’t know who took her home. I know that I 
didn’t. But the gem of the evening was sung by a 
blind man. It was the most silly song for a blind man 
to sing. 

Mid.—What was it? 

End.—The blind man sung “All coons look alike 
to me.” 

“OPINION ON MAN AND WOMAN.” 

End.—Say, I’ve got a toast for you: May you be 
hung, drawn and quartered. 

Mid.—That’s a nice toast, isn’t it? 

End.—Certainly. May you be hung high above the 




42 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


reach of adversity; drawn in a carriage of your own, 
and quartered in the arms of those you love! What’s 
your opinion about woman? 

Mid.—Woman should be counselled and confided 
in. It is the beauty and glory of her nature that it 
instinctively grasps at and clings to the truth and right. 
Reason, man’s greatest faculty, takes time to hesitate 
before it decides; but woman’s instinct never hesitates 
in its decision, and is scarcely ever wrong where it has 
even chances with reason. Woman feels where man 
thinks. 

End.—Woman feels where man thinks? That’s 
what makes so many men baldheaded, I guess. 

Mid.—What is your opinion of woman? 

End.—I love them all. My mother was a woman. I 
think the ladies are heaven’s best gift to man. 

Mid.—What would we do without them? 

End.—We’d have more money, of course. 

Mid.—What’s your opinion of man? 

End.—I think man was originally designed and in¬ 
tended for a fish. 

Mid.—For a fish? Why? 

End.—Because there are so many spiritual and 
watery individuals around; all money transactions are 
called “fin-ancial.” The garden of Eden was laid in 
Finland. Soldiers are called “lobsters;” lawyers are 
called “sharks;” dudes are called “sardines;” little im¬ 
pudent boys are “shrimps;” jays are called “clams;” 
I think you and I are— 

Mid.—Are what? 

End.—A couple of “suckers.” 


“ASK A POLICEMAN.” 

End.—A man’s life was saved by a pie. His wife 
made it and set it on the window sill to cool, and some- 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


43 


body stole it—that saved the man's life. I saved a 
man’s life last night. A burglar came up to me and 
put a pistol to my head and he says, “Money or your 
life.” I gave him my money—quick. It’s lucky I 
didn’t have my pistol with me—he’d a-stolen that, too. 
Do you know the difference between capital and labor? 
I’ll explain it to you. If I loaned you ten dollars, that 
would be capital. If I tried to get it back again, that 
would be labor. But the burglar I was telling you about 
was chased by a policeman. The burglar happened to 
be eating a banana—he threw the peel on the sidewalk, 
and he gave the cop the slip. I could have been a po¬ 
liceman only I wanted to work. The other night I 
was coming home and I wanted to know the time. I 
went to a cop and says, “Mister, what time is it?” He 
pulled out his club and hit me on the head and says, 
“It’s just struck one.” (Laughs.) I’m glad I wasn’t 
around there an hour sooner—I’d a-gotten the whole 
twelve. 


ALL ABOUT NOVELS. 

Mid.—Gentlemen, I went into a bookstore to-day 
and obtained several books. You saw me coming out 
to-day, didn’t you? 

Tambo.—Yes—you were in a hurry. There was a 
policeman after you. 

Mid.—No; I bought the books. 

Bones.—Was the man in? 

Mid.—Yes, the man was in. 

Bones.—If he wasn’t you’d got away with the whole 
store and all the books. 

Mid.—Now, distinctly understand—I bought the 
books—paid cash for them. I understand you are fond 
of reading. I love to read novels, and I understand 
you like to read novels, also. 



44 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Tambo.—No, we don’t need to read them. All we 
have to do is to look at the title of a novel and we 
know all about it. 

Bones.—Yes, we go into a store and by just reading 
the titles of the novels we know what they’re all about. 
We know just who she’s going to marry; how much 
gum she chews, and all about it. 

Mid.—Do you mean to say that by merely reading 
the title of a novel you can tell the contents? Well, 
I’ll test it. Now, there’s a popular novel called “Back 
to the Old Home.” 

Bones.—Don’t you know what that is? Back to 
the old home—that’s you going back to Cherry Hill 
or the almshouse, where you belong. 

Mid.—Now, here’s another well known novel. 
“Other People’s Money.” 

Tambo.—That’s what you’ve been living on ever 
since I’ve known you. 

Mid.—Here’s another: “Just as I Am.” 

Bones.—Just as I am. 

Mid.—What? 

Bones.—Dead broke. 

Mid.—Here’s one by William Black: That “Beau¬ 
tiful Wretch.” 

Tambo.—What? 

Mid.—That “Beautiful Wretch.” 

Tambo.—(Laughs.) That’s what all the ladies call 
me. (Bashful business.) 

Mid.—Now, here’s one: “Bells of Shandon.” 

Bones.— Bells of Shandon? Irish chestnuts. 

Mid.—“Not Like Other Girls.” 

Tambo.—Doctor Mary Walker. 

Mid.—Here’s another one—well known, too: “The 
Evil Genius.” 

Bones.—My mother-in-law. 

Mid.—Another new novel: “Love Works Won¬ 
ders.” 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 45 

Tambo—Cleveland staying home nights in Prince¬ 
ton with his new boy. 

Mid.—Now, here’s a new book. I know you don’t 
know what it’s about, for it was issued to-day. It is 
entitled the “Castaways.” 

Tambo.—Oh! that’s easy; that’s why you go down 
in front cf the (local) hotel every morning. 

Mid.—What? 

Tambo.—For old stumps—“castaways.” 


“FUNNY SIGNS AND BORROWED PANTS.” 

Tambo.—Did you enjoy yourself this summer? I 
did. I went to all the cheap places—but things were 
awful dull and trade very poor. It was funny to see the 
inducements shopkeepers offered to the public to pick 
up trade. I was passing by a barber shop and I saw 
the following sign: “What do you think I’ll shave you 
for nothing and give you a drink.” 

Mid.—Well, that was an inducement. 

Tambo.—Yes, and I jumped for it at once and got 
bit. I walked in and the barber slung his paste all 
over my jaw. 

Mid.—You submitted gracefully to the manipula¬ 
tions of the tcnsorial artist. 

Tambo.—No, I went in to get shaved. As I said be¬ 
fore he smeared me, then he peeled the skin off my jaw. 
I got up and called for a little whisk—. 

Mid.—Whisk-broom? 

Tambo.—No, old whisk! The barber took out a 
bottle and I took a drink, put on my coat and was 
walking out when he stopped me. He says twenty-five 
cents, please. I says, what for? Your sign out there 



46 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


says, “What do you think, I’ll shave you for nothing 
and give you a drink.” 

Mid.—Certainly. 

Tambo.—He says, you don’t read it right. Listen to 
me—I’ll read it for you: “What!! do you think!! I’ll 
shave you for nothing and give you a drink?” So I 
was beat. I went on a little further and I saw another 
sign: “Boots blacked inside.” 

Mid.—Did you try it? 

Tambo.—No, it dirties the stockings to have “boots 
blacked inside.” I never knew trouble until I slept 
uptown one night. I tell you it was awful. I couldn’t 
sleep. Dogs, cats, everything broke loose that night— 
about a million dogs were barking under my window. 

Mid.—A million canines? 

Tambo.—Well, I saw one, anyway. I looked out of 
the window and saw him in the next yard. I slung my 
boots at him—and my watch—then I slung the bed¬ 
stead at him. He still kept up his barking. I got an 
old musket and loaded it up to the muzzle with bullets 
and let the whole dose fly at the dog. I heard a win¬ 
dow go up next door and some one hollered over to 
me: “What are you making all this fuss about?” I 
says “That confounded dog over there is barking so I 
can’t sleep.” The fellow answered back: “Go to bed; 
that dog isn’t barking—the dog you see out in the 
yard is a cast iron dog I put out there over night. I’m 
going to put it in the front yard in the morning—go 
to bed and sleep it off.” 

Mid.—So you’d been shooting at a cast iron dog? 
Ha! ha! 

Tambo.—Yes; I felt so ashamed that I left next day 
for Long Branch. I had a bully time there. I didn’t 
take any trunk with me and only one paper collar. 
While I was there a young lady invited me.to a dance, 
and as I didn’t have a good pair of pants I was going 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. > 47 

to refuse, when Steve Smith told me he’d lend me a 
pair. 

Mid.—That was very kind. 

Tambo.—I thought so at the time, so I got them, 
put them on and started for the dance. I sat down 
talking to my girl when along came Steve and he says: 
“Don’t sit down in those pants—you’ll get them all 
wrinkled. Move around in them—take the kinks out 
of them”—and this young lady listening to it all. 

Mid.—That was awful. 

Tambo.—Yes, it was. I went down to where they 
were feeding so as to get out of the way. The young 
lady and I sat down and I ordered some ice cream, and 
I was just beginning to eat when along came Steve 
Smith again. He says, “Be careful, can’t you? Slob¬ 
bering ice cream all over those pants! I want to use 
them again. Put a napkin over your knees.” 

Mid.—That was a cruel shot. 

Tambo.—I swore I’d never go to a ball again with 
borrowed clothes. A week after I fell into the same 
trap—there was another ball and I was invited, but 
declined on account of having no good pair of pants. 
Bill Doolittle says to me, “I’ll lend you a pair—I 
heard about the mean way Steve used you, but I won’t 
be as mean as he was—you can take my pair of pants 
and welcome, if you want ’em.” 

Mid.—Did you accept his kind offer? 

Tambo.—Yes; so I called on my young lady, and we 
went down to the ball. Steve was there and so was 
Bill Doolittle. We had a few drinks and we started 
for the ballroom. Now, I had on a pair of pants that 
I felt “at home” in. I got up on the floor with my gal 
and just struck out into a double shuffle. Oh! how I 
was sailing in—everybody looking at me—I felt so 
good (dances) when along came Bill. He shouted out: 
“That’s right, pitch in—rip ’em—bust ’em—tear ’em 
all to pieces. I’ll never wear those pants again.” 


48 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


“OUR BROTHERS.” 

End.—Say, what’s the matter with you; you look 
as if you was angry with me? 

Mid.—Well, I should think I was! Any man that 
will go around and talk about me as you have done. 
Why, sir, I ought to horsewhip you for slandering me. 
End.—Who slandered you? 

Mid.—You did. 

End.—Who did? 

Mid.—You did. 

End.—What did I say? 

Mid.—You slandered me to my friends. 

End.—Who did. 

Mid.—You did. 

End.—Who says I did? 

Mid.—I say you did. 

End.—What did I say? 

Mid.—Everything mean, contemptible and slander¬ 
ous about me. 

End.—Who did? 

Mid.—You did. 

End.—Who says I did? 

Mid.—I say you did. You’ve talked scandalous 
about me . 

End.—You say I talked about you? 

Mid.—Yes, and you can’t deny it. 

End.—(To audience)—He says I talked about him. 
Mid.—Yes; about me and my family. 

End.—I talked about your family? 

Mid.—Yes, you did! All the gentlemen here pres¬ 
ent have heard you. 

End.—I say I didn’t talk about your family, and if 
they say I did they— 

Mid.—What? 

End.—Approached the truth in a roundabout way. 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


49 


Mid.—You are a slanderer, sir. 

End.—He says I talked about his family. What 
have I got to do with your family’s business? It’s none 
of my business if your uncle was hung for stealing 
horses, is it? 

Mid.—Certainly not your business. 

End.—Of course it isn’t. Yet you say I go ’round 
talking about your family. It’s none of my business 
if your grandfather was sent up to the state’s prison 
for passing counterfeit money, is it? 

Mid.—No, sir; it’s none of your business. 

End.—Of course it’s none of my business; and he 
says I go ’round talking about his family. What do 
I care if your father was tarred and feathered for bur¬ 
glary—it’s none of my affairs, is it? 

Mid.—No, sir; it does not concern you. 

End.—Certainly it doesn’t! Yet you say I go ’round 
talking about your family. 

Mid.—I don’t want to hear any more about it. If I 
do there’ll be trouble. My family are respectable, and 
I will have no slandering against them. 

End.—Say! Where’s your brother? 

Mid.—You needn’t trouble yourself about my 
brother. 

End.—But I do trouble myself about him. Where 
is he? 

Mid.—My brother does not care about your in¬ 
quiries, I’m sure. 

End.—We’ve all missed him, and as I owe him some 
money I’d like to see him. 

Mid.—Well, he won’t care to see you. 

End.—Well, where is he? 

Mid.—Look here, sir. If you’ll give me your word 
of honor not to say anything to anyone I’ll tell you. 

End.—I won’t say a word about him to a single soul. 

Mid.—On your word and honor? 

End.—Yes—cross my heart. 

4 


50 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Mid.—Well, you know my brother was employed in 
a large establishment and had charge of the funds. 

End.—Yes, I heard he was working in a place where 
they had no bell on the drawer. 

Mid.—Then you’ve heard something of my broth¬ 
er’s affairs. 

End.—No, no; ain’t heard a word. 

Mid.—Having charge of the drawer he became in¬ 
duced to take money that didn’t belong to him. 

End.—Oh, yes! he was induced. I see—I see. 

Mid.—He was detected, tried and convicted. He is 
now serving a term in the penitentiary. ’Tis very, 
very sad. 

End.—Well, I’ll go and tell the boys where he is. 

Mid.—Stop. You gave me your word of honor not 
to say a word to anyone. 

End.—How are they going to know where he is if 
I don’t go and tell them. 

Mid.—I don’t want anyone to know of my brother’s 
misfortunes. 

End.—Oh! oh! You don’t want anybody to know 
about it. 

Mid.—Keep this all a secret. 

End.—Oh, yes! I’ll just tell two or three of them; 
the rest can find out for themselves. 

Mid.—Tell no one; not a soul. 

End.—All right, then; I’ll keep mum. 

Mid.—By the way, sir, where is your brother? 

End.—You say your brother was induced. Who in¬ 
duced him (motions fingers)—these? I know it all 
runs in the family. 

Mid.—What do you mean, sir? But come, tell me 
where is your brother? 

End.—Wasn’t there nobody looking when your 
brother nipped this money? 

Mid.—Tell me—where is your brother? 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 51 

End.—Oh! my brother! I’m talking about your 
brother. How long is he up for? 

Mid.—Come! I’ve told you about my brother, now 
tell me, sir, where is yours? 

End.—I know where yours is—that’s all I care 
about. Did you say there was no bell on the drawer? 

Mid.—No dodging questions. Where is your 
brother? 

End.—You won’t tell anyone if I tell you? 

Mid.—No; upon my word and honor—the rest will 
remain silent, also. 

End.—I’m afraid you fellers will tell. 

Mid.—No. Come tell us—where is your brother? 

End.—My brother is—. So your brother is in jail 
for stealing? 

Mid.—(Impatiently.)—Yes; yes. Now tell us, where 
is your brother? 

End.—My brother is (all lean forward, eagerly)—is 
in congress. 

Mid.—Ha! ha! ha! Congress!! (All laugh.) 

End.—My brother has got the best of your brother, 
hasn’t he? 

Mid.—How? 

End.—My brother can keep on stealing and yours 

can’t. 


'THE RAGGED JACKET.” 


Tambo.—Say, do you ever have the postoffice come 
up to your house and leave you sweet stuff to read? 

Mid.—No, sir; I go to the postoffice for all my let¬ 
ters. 

Tambo.—You ought to see the note I got yester¬ 
day. Oh! it was fine. Birds, alligators, deers and 



52 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


canary birds skipping on the outside, and on the back 
was a big red loafer! 

Mid.—The back of the envelope was fastened with 
a wafer. 

Tambo.—Yes, sir. I broke open the overcoat the 
letter had on and I read the sweetest composition of 
poetry ever you heard. 

Mid.—What was it? 

Tambo.—It began thus: “Dearest Ned, I’m sick in 
bed with the pain in my head, and when I’ve bid 
adieu to Jack and Ted, think of me when this you’ve 
read, for when I die I’ll surely be dead.” Wasn’t that 
sweet? 

Mid.—Did you respond? 

Tambo.—Yes; I got a poetical fit and wrote her an 
answer. It was this: “Oh, dearest Clorinda, if I was 
a pair of spectacles how dearly I would prize to sit 
upon your crooked nose—to look you in the eyes. Or 
if I was a blister plaster, or patch upon your lip, I’d 
lead a life of ecstacy, and sip, and sip, and sip.” 

Mid.—Very touching. 

Tambo.—Yes; she sent for me right away, and I 
called. I pulled six feet of wire out of the door bell 
and walked in. The servant told me my girl was in the 
arms of Morpheus. That made me feel jealous. 

Mid.—She meant the arms of Morpheus—the god of 
sleep. 

Tambo.—I thought it was a Fenian name. Well, I 
walked into the boudoir. 

Mid.—What’s that? 

Tambo.—That’s where Clorinda was roosting. She 
was resting her arms on a Peruvian ottoman. 

Mid.—What’s that, sir? 

Tambo.—A nail keg stuffed with straw. I ap¬ 
proached her and she told me she was sick. 

Mid.—What ailed her? 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 53 

Tambo.—She was sick of being sick. I called the 
doctor. 

Mid.—What did he say? 

Tambo.—He said she was sick. 

Mid.—-What did you think of it? 

Tambo.—I think she was sick. Well, she leaned 
over her alabaster ear on my cheek, so I could whisper 
to her, and I sweetly asked her if she’d go to the ball 
with me. 

Mid.—She consented, of course? 

Tambo.—No, sir; she emphatically said no. She 
shook me. 

Mid.—Shook you? 

Tambo.—Yes, sir. When she said no it broke the G 
string of my affections. I felt bad. 

Mid.—Why this cool treatment? 

Tambo.—She said my clothes wasn’t good enough 
for her to go with me. She was struck after a clerk 
that worked in a store where there was no bell on the 
drawer. Yes, sir; she found fault with my clothes. 

Mid.—Then you are well rid of her, for any person 
who measures or judges persons by their clothes meas¬ 
ures them from a very poor standard. 

Tambo.—Oh! you ought to see what I wrote to her. 
I’ll bet when she read it she felt ashamed. Listen and 
I’ll tell you what I wrote to her. I says: 

Altho’ I’m but a working man, 

And live by honest labor, 

I always do the best I can 
To assist a needy neighbor. 

Content and health are all my wealth, 

With honesty to back it. 

My meaning’s pure, altho’ I’m poor. 

And wear a ragged jacket. 

So let us help our fellow man. 

If assistance he should lack it, 

And do him all the good we can, 

Tho’ he wears a ragged jacket. 


54 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


All men were equal born at first, 

In this and every nation. 

The rich among the poor would be, 

But for wealth and education. 

And when we’re laid beneath the sod, 
With a hundred years to back it, 

There’s none can tell which were the bones 
Who w~re the ragged jacket. 


CONUNDRUMS. 

Why is a camel’s hair shawl like a deaf person? 

You can’t make them here (hear). 

Why is a man stealing shingles off a roof like an 
honest man? 

Because he’s above doing a mean action. 

To make a pumpkin speak scoop it out and make it 
“holler.” 


“CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.” 

End.—I’m superintendent of the cruelty to animals 
society. It’s a grand thing. I arrested a woman yester¬ 
day for beating an egg; and another man for beating a 
carpet. Another woman was arrested for cruelty to an¬ 
imals. She had on small garters and it was hurting the 
calves. I’m very strict in my duties—I even arrested 
a woman for bottling “cats-up.” I got a hold of a man 
yesterday who was trying to “kill time,” he got four 
years. I arrested three men for “shooting the shoots,” 
and a dude for “cutting an acquaintance.” We’ve got 
to be strict, you know. I arrested a cook yesterday for 
digging out the “eyes” of a potato. I fined a circus 
owner for making the elephant carry his “trunk.” I 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


55 


arrested a farmer for planting onions and potatoes to¬ 
gether. The onions got into the potatoes’ eyes and 
they cried themselves to death. This tarmer puiled the 
corn’s ears and I heard of it. 

Mid.—You’d ought to consider my case. 

End.—We don’t look after monkeys. But here’s a 
case for you. A woman was standing on one side of a 
deep river. There was no bridge or boat to go over in; 
she didn’t know what to do. Suddenly a little boy 
threw a big stone in the river, which spattered the woj 
man—she got “cross” in a minute. 


“MIXED BREEDS OF CHICKENS.” 

End.—I want you to come down and see my farm. 
Well, it doesn’t belong to me, but I’m working for the 
man that owns it. We’ve had lots of trouble there 
caused by chickens. They’d scratch up the corn and 
seeds as fast as we’d plant them. They were smart 
chickens—they’d watch me and the farmer planting the 
stuff, scratch it up and laugh at us. One day the 
farmer says to me: “Traviata, my boy—” 

Mid.—Traviata is not your name. 

End.—That was my maiden name before I was mar¬ 
ried. He says if you can stop those chickens from 
scratching up the corn and seeds I’ll give you fifty dol¬ 
lars. So I went and got some “Shanghigh” eggs and 
Banty hen’s eggs and mixed ’em up so the old hen 
wouldn’t know ’em. The old hen couldn’t tell the dif¬ 
ference, so she hatched ’em out. Oh! you never saw 
such chickens. They were like this (stands with one 
leg shorter than the other); one long leg and one short 
leg. I had mixed the breed. One Shanghigh leg and 
one banty leg. (Laughs.) That’s how I fooled ’em. 



56 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

When they’d stand on the long leg they couldn’t 
scratch with the short one, and when they'd go to 
stand on the short one to scratch they’d flop over and 
break their necks. 


"EPITAPHS.” 

End.—I’ve got an elegant position at last. I’m mak¬ 
ing tombstones—not exactly making them, but I 
put on all the poetry and words. 

Mid.—You mean epitaphs. 

End.—Yes; all the “epitaffys.” All trades should 
have them suitable. Now, for a baker I’d put on “He 
‘kneads’ no more.” See? And a lawyer, “He’s ‘lying’ 
still.” For a soldier, “He’s mustered out.” For a 
jockey, “He lost the race.” For an auctioneer, “Go- 
ing—gone.” For a gambler, “He answered the last 
call.” I’ve got one that will suit you. 

Mid.—What is it? 

End.—“This beat has ceased to beat.” But the best 
one for fireman is, “He’s gone to his last fire.” 

Mid.—What is a good one for a man scalded to 
death? 

End.—“To our ’steamed friend.” I was called on by 
Mr. Brown, a policeman—you know him, of course 
you do. He’s taken you in many a time. Well, he had 
a pair of twins—one died a few minutes before the 
other and I got the job of writing the epitaphs. Here’s 
what I wrote: 


“Policeman Brown, of our town, 
Was blessed with a pair of twins, 
One had a cough—which took it off 
From this abode o.f sin. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


57 


Number one had scarcely croaked 
And into the cotim slid, 

When number two flew up the flue, 
To join the other kid.” 


“IF A RIVER WERE BETWEEN ALL THE 
MEN AND WOMEN.” 

End.—Here’s a new drill for batchelors: 

“Fall in” love with some good and industrious 
young woman. 

“Attention” pay to her faithfully and respectfully. 

“Right face” in popping the question like a man. 

“Quick march” to her parents and ask their consent. 

“Tile right” with her to the church, and go through 
the marriage ceremony. 

“Halt” and reflect seriously upon the new duties you 
have assumed, and then perform them. 

“Right about face” from the haunts you have fre¬ 
quented when single. 

“Advance arms” to your young wife when out walk¬ 
ing, and never leave her to trail behind. 

“Break off” staying out at night and all other bad 
habits if you would have a happy home. 

I want to ask you something: Suppose there were 
but three women in the world what would they be 
doing? Two would get together and talk about the 
other one. Now, if there was but one man in the 
world, what would he be doing? Running after those 
three women. If there was a big, deep, wide river, 
and all the men were placed on one side of the river, 
and all the women were placed on the other side of this 
river, what do you suppose would happen? 

Mid.—The men would swim over. 

End.—-Not on your life. The women would be 
across that river before a man could take his coat off. 



58 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


“BREACH OF PROMISE.” 

End.—Say, tell me which are the best partners for a 
game of cards? 

Mid.—Tell me if you know. 

End.—A chimney sweep and a bugler. The bugler 
can trumpet and the chimney sweep will follow “soot.” 
Hear about the great game of base ball between the 
married men and the single men. 

Mid.—Who won the game? 

End.—Oh! the single men. The married men 
couldn’t make a “home run.” Did you hear about the 
breach of promise case, yesterday? I must describe it 
to you. 

A young woman from the country was suing her 
ex-sweetheart for breach of promise and the lawyers 
were, as usual, making all sorts of inquisitive inquiries. 

“You say,” remarked one, “that the defendant fre¬ 
quently sat very close to you ?” 

“Yes, sir,” was the reply, with a hectic flush. 

“How close?” 

“Close enough so’s one cheer was all the settin’ 
room we needed.” 

“And you say he put his arm around you?” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

“What did you say, then?” 

“I said he put both arms around me.” 

“Then what?” 

“He hugged me.” 

“Very hard?” 

“Yes, he did. So durn hard that I came purty near 
hollerin’ right out.” 

“Why didn’t you holler?” 

“Cause.” 

“That’s no reason. Be explicit, please. Because 
why?” 

“Cause I was afeerd he’d stop.” 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


59 


“LEARNING THE BIKE.” 

Mid.—Didn’t I hear you kiss Miss Fergueson on 
the piazza last night? 

End.—No, sir; I kissed her on the mouth. She’s 
very patriotic. She’s going to make a flag pillow and 
stuff it with gun-cotton. I saw you pushing a cry-cycle 
yesterday. 

Mid.—What is a cry-cycle? 

End.—A baby carriage. No use talking, the bike is 
a great thing, isn’t it? 

Mid.—The bicycle has taken the place of the horse. 

End.—That’s so. I found a piece of rubber tire in 
my sausage this morning. 

Mid.—Do you ride a bike? 

End.—On and off—more off than on. I’m learning. 
I was green when I commenced, but I’m black and 
blue now. 

Mid.—Doesn’t it hurt when you’re learning? 

End.—Only when you hit the ground. But, I say— 
what funny suits the women wear on bikes. They dress 
just like men. It’s a wise child that knows his own 
father on a bike. I went up the other day and kissed 
a bike rider, and it happened to be a female. She had 
me arrested, but the judge discharged me. I told him 
I thought it was my long lost brother. I couldn’t tell 
the difference till she hollered. 


“THE DUTCHMAN’S BET.” 

End.—The Germans are great people. If it wasn’t 
for them we’d have no breweries; we’d have no sour- 
krout or liverwurst. 

Mid.—A very industrious people. 



6 o 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


End.—Yes; after the dust all the time. And when 
you get them to bet on anything it must be they think 
they can win. A friend of mine, Grossmeyer, came 
into a saloon where I was and in talking about beer 
he said he could drink two gallons at once. I bet him 
five dollars that he couldn’t. 

Mid.—Two gallons at a draught? 

End.—Certainly. I had a dead sure thing. So Gross¬ 
meyer took the bet and went out as I supposed to get 
the money. In a short time he returned, put up his 
five dollars against mine, and the two gallons of beer 
were placed before him. Grossmeyer commenced. In 
exactly four minutes he had swallowed the two gallons 
of lager beer. 

Mid.—Wonderful capacity. 

End.—Yes. I went up to him and says, “Gross¬ 
meyer, I didn’t think you could do that.” He says, “I 
didn’t neider until I went in the saloon next door and 
tried it.” 


“LOVE AND MATRIMONY.” 

End.—Courting is awful nice, isn’t it? You set there 
with the light turned down—you don’t need any light 
—for love is blind. She kisses you and you kiss her, 
and you say,“Would you miss a kiss?” and she says, “I 
wouldn’t miss a kiss for the world.” Oh! those are 
happy days, and you are so mushy—silly—you sit 
there and tell her a lot of lies. Well, you know how 
you will lie when you’re in love. She calls you “baby” 
and you call her “ootsy,” and you sit and hold each 
other’s hands. Did you ever hold hands? All those 
who have held hands please stand up. That will do— 
sit down. But leaving jokes aside, “What is man 
without a wife?” He’s nothing, and he’s worse off 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


6 l 


after he gets married. His wife is always at his side, 
and when he’s sick—unable to raise hand or foot—his 
wife is right at his bedside, going through his pockets. 
An Irish friend of mine got married about the same 
time I was thinking of signing my life away, and a few 
weeks afterward his wife died. He got up a nice fun¬ 
eral and, as they were carrying the coffin to the ceme¬ 
tery, they turned a corner and bumped the coffin 
against a fence. Down came the coffin and the woman 
fell out—and she was alive. She’d only been in a 
trance. The fence saved her. Six months after that 
she died again, and they were carrying her to the cem¬ 
etery, and they came to that same corner, and the Irish¬ 
man hollered out “Steady, boys, steady—look out 
for the fence—look out for the fence.” 


“A VERY GOOD TIP.” 

End.—I’m a mind reader. I can tell exactly what 
you are thinking about. 

Mid.—Well, you needn’t bother yourself about try¬ 
ing your powers upon me. I’m not thinking of any¬ 
thing at present. 

End.—That’s so; you haven’t got anything to think 
with. I tried my mind reading on Solomon Rosen- 
stone. I went to him and says, “I’ll bet ten dollars I 
can tell you what you’re thinking of.” He put up his 
ten very quick for he says, “Nobody can tell what is 
now in my mind.” So the bet was made. I says to 
Solomon “You are thinking of coming here and open¬ 
ing a large clothing store. You’ll get it heavily in¬ 
sured; you’ll burn it down and get the insurance. 
Then you’ll go to some other city and try the same 
scheme.” Solomon looked at me and handed me the 
money. He’d lost. I says, “Am I right?” Solomon 



62 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

says “No, I wasn’t thinking of that, but it’s a darn 
good tip.” 


“TOOK THE DEAD MAN’S DOLLAR.” 

End.—I met my old friend Levi Kazinski, yester¬ 
day. He’s in the clothing business. I asked him how 
business was? He says, “Very bad, very bad.” I says, 
“Why don’t you?” He says, “Why don’t I what?” 
I says, “You know—matches—burn it down and get 
the insurance.” He says, “My boy, you don’t under¬ 
stand the reason. Over my store is a swimming- 
school, right next door is a fire engine house—so 
what’s the use.” He’s in hard luck, isn’t he? I’m 
working for a Hebrew undertaker. Yesterday they 
brought in a stiff— 

Mid.—A dead man? 

End.—Yes; and we laid him out. In a few moments 
in came his rabbits. 

Mid.—The rabbi. 

End.—Yes; he said a lot of stuff over the dead man 
and put a silver dollar in the dead man’s hand. 

Mid.—That’s a very ancient custom. That dollar 
was to pay his ferryage across the river Styx—the 
river of death. 

End.—Was that to pay his ferry across the river? 

Mid.—Why, certainly. 

End.—Well, that fellow will have to swim, for I 
swiped that dollar. 


“STORM AT SEA.” 

End.—T’ve been to sea and I don’t care about going 
again. We had a narrow escape from sinking. One 
woman yelled out, “Oh, John, the ship is sinking!” 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 63 

John says, “Let her sink; it isn’t ours.” I tell you the 
sailors worked like gladiators. 

Mid.—Do you know the meaning of the word glad¬ 
iator? 

End.—Certainly. There was an Irishman on the 
ship that used the word for the first time. His wife 
fell overboard and a big shark got after her and swal¬ 
lowed her, and the Irishman says, “Well, I’m glad-he- 
ate-her.” We had lots to eat on board of that vessel. 
One sailor got sick eating roast duck. I gave him 
some quack medicine and he got well. And we had 
tramp cider. 

Mid.—What is tramp cider? 

End.—Cider that hasn’t worked. One sailor made 
me “hopping” mad—he stepped on my corns. Oh! 
but when the storm finally did come you’d ought to 
have seen how we were all sea-sick. I couldn’t 
keep outside of my food at all. The sailors were sick, 
the captain was sick, the ocean was sick—and one 
poor sailor was sicker than all the rest. 

Mid.—How do you know he was? 

End.—The captain told him to go forward and 
“heave up the anchor.” 


“AT NIAGARA FALLS.” 

Mid.—A man is a very little thing upon this earth. 

End.—And you are an American, too. 

Mid.—Yes. 

End.—Well, how must a Spaniard feel? I belong to 
a fine regiment. The colonel is an ex-congressman, 
the major is the son of a United States senator, the 
captain of our company used to be in the legislature, 
and the first lieutenant is an alderman. 

Mid.—What is the second lieutenant? 



6 4 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


End.—Oh, he’s nothing but a West Pointer. Be¬ 
ing in the army doesn’t stop me from writing poetry. 
Here’s one about the girls on the beach: 

“How fresh the breeze is! thought the maid, 

As by the sad sea waves she strayed. 

The breeze was fresh, in truth to speak, 

To blow the paint right off her cheek!” 

You know I used to be a newspaper man. I started 
in as a reporter. They sent me out to interview a 
milkman, but he refused to be “pumped.” Then they 
sent me to Niagara Falls to write it up. 

Mid.—They say that the falls at Niagara are wear¬ 
ing away rapidly. 

End.—I don’t wonder at it—a great many people 
take a “hack” at Niagara Falls. While there I met an 
Irishman, and I was explaining the beauties of the falls 
to him. I said, “Isn’t that a wonderful work of nature 
to see that vast body of water coming over like that?” 
He says, “What’s to hinder it?” I says, “But isn’t it 
wonderful to see it come down and plunge down in 
such terrific volumes?” He says, “It is wonderful, but 
wouldn’t it be more wonderful to see it go back 
again?” 


“TWO GOOD LIARS.” 

Mid.—Do you know that I’ve been keeping track 
of you, and I hear that you are becoming a liar? Do 
you know the punishment of liars in olden times? 
They had a hole bored through their tongues. 

End.—If it was the custom now your tongue would 
look like a porous plaster. Now, see here; you’re a 
pretty good liar, and I can come pretty near telling the 
truth sometimes. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll bet 
ten dollars I can tell a bigger lie than you can. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


65 

Mid.—All right—put up your ten. (They place the 
money on the floor.) Put the money on the floor, for 
we can’t lie and be stake-holders, too. That money is 
mine, but I’ll tell my story anyway. Once I was out 
hunting and I found myself on a broad prairie—not a 
house or tree for miles. Suddenly, out of some hole, 
I dare say, came a grizzly bear weighing a thousand 
pounds. I started to run—the bear gained on me— 
suddenly I ran up an alley— 

End.—An alley on the prairies? There goes five 
dollars of my money. (Cries.) 

Mid.—Well, sir, I suddenly turned and ran my arm 
down the bear’s throat and pulled the bear inside out, 
and he ran the other way. (Reaches for the money.) 
I’ll take that money. 

End.—If you do I’ll take your life. Sit down. You’ve 
been telling the truth. Now, I’ll tell mine: Once 
there was a lawyer—a “Philadelphia” lawyer—and an 
honest lawyer— 

Mid.—Take the money. (End takes the money and 
goes to seat.) 


“THE KISS SOCIABLE.” 

End.—I attended a kiss sociable the other night. 
I’ve had sore lips ever since. 

Mid.—What is a kiss sociable? 

End.—I’ll have to describe it to you in poetry: 

I’ll tell you what a kiss sociable is, 

It’s the nicest thing that’s out: 

The girls are seated in a room— 

The lean, the short, the stout. 

All are anxious to be kissed. 

Because they’re fond of kissing, 

And when there’s kissing to be done 
The girls are never missing. 

6 



66 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Their lips are red as strawberries, 

And taste like chewing gum; 

But still you get the flavor of 
The sweetest yum-yum-yum. 

I’ll tell you how the game is played, 

It starts off just like this: 

It costs you just five cents apiece 
To obtain one little kiss. 

Just think of it—a nickel, 

Boys—you can have lots of fun, 

And if you’ve got a dollar, 

You can get kisses by the ton. 

But if ever you start in kissing, 

It’s a fact—sure as you’re born— 

You’ll never let up kissing a (Brooklyn) girl 
Until all your money’s gone. 


“THE SPOTTED DOG” 

End.—When I was about fourteen years old, my 
father lived on the old farm up at Poughkeepsie. One 
day, after I had finished a five acre field of corn, my 
father let me go to town to see the circus. While in 
town I saw for the first time a spotted coachdog. It 
took my fancy and I bought it and took it home. 
When father saw it his good old Puritan face fell. 

“Why, Chauncey,” he said, sadly, “we don’t want 
any spotted dog on the farm—he’ll drive the cattle 
crazy.” 

“No, he won’t, father,” says Chauncey, proudly, 
“he’s a blooded dog.” 

The next day it was raining and I took the dog out 
into the woods to try him on a coon, but the rain was 
too much for him—it washed the spots off. That 
night I took the dog back to the dog-dealer, with a 
long face. Said I: “Look at that dog, sir; the spots 
have all washed off.” 

“Great guns, boy!” exclaimed the dog-dealer, “there 
was an umbrella went with that dog. Didn’t you get 
the umbrella?” 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


6 7 


“A. P. A. AND BRICKS.” 

End.—Murphy is a smart Irishman. He was build¬ 
ing a house and he didn’t have money enough to buy 
any more bricks. Right across the way they were 
building another house and there was a big pile of 
bricks and a gang of Irishmen working. Murphy tried 
his best to steal some of them, but it was no use. 

Mid.—“Thou art so near and yet so far.” 

End.—Yes. Murphy thought of a plan. Next day 
he got up on his fence and yelled “Hurrah for the A. 
P. A.” 

Mid. —What was the result? 

End.—He got enough bricks to build two houses. 


“WISH THE GUN HAD GONE OFF.” 

End.—Marriage is a ticklish thing, isn’t it? Bill 
is married and his mother-in-law bosses him. She 
bosses the whole family. Well, you know Bill’s moth¬ 
er-in-law’s got a large family, and among them a pair 
of twins—that is, one each. Their names are Kate and 
Duplicate—real smart girls, too. One says the other 
day, she says, “I saw Hazel the other day.” The other 
says, “Which Hazel?” She says, “‘Witch Hazel.” 
Then that one got mad and says,“I can stick you now,” 
and she says “What with?” and the other says, “A pin 
—ah! ha! ha!” This mother-in-law of Bill’s has got a 
son-in-law that she has not spoken a kind word to in 
twenty years—well, he died in 1863. But then she’s 
had one that she always abused, and found fault with 
him all the time. Well, she thought she was going to 
die not long ago, and she sent for this fellow to come 



68 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


and see her, and as soon as she saw him she says, 
“George, kiss me good-by! I’m going to heaven.” 
Well, he went around to church next Sunday and gave 
his pew up. Then she got well and he was taken sick 
and died, and one night his ghost appeared in her 
room, and she said, “Who’s there?” And the ghost 
replied, “It is I—George!” This was said in a deep- 
chest ghost’s voice. And she said, “Are you happy?” 
He replied he was happy as he could be under the cir¬ 
cumstances, and she said, “Well, then you must be in 
heaven.” He says, “No!” Well, you know he’d lived 
with her ten years. Well, you know I’ve had hard 
luck myself. Why, a man approached me last Novem¬ 
ber on the street and he had a gun in his hand, and 
he wanted me to marry his daughter immediately; if 
I didn’t he’d shoot me on the spot. Well, I married 
her; any fellow would. I’ve been living with her four 
months. We’ve been keeping house. I wish the gun 
had gone off. 


“THE COUNTRY AND DON’T DRINK.” 

Tambo.—Say, did you ever go out and spend a 
week in the country or have a little pic-nic some after¬ 
noon? 

Mid.—Well, lately I have been too busy and could 
not spare the time. But I love the country, the green 
fields, the birds. Oh! give me the country. 

Tambo.—Don’t you want anything else? But I tell 
you I love the country, too. Just give me a little cor¬ 
ner where I can sit and dig worms, and I don’t want 
anything else. Oh! what a nice time I had out in the 
country. I went to visit my cousin. 

Mid.—You had a nice time, no doubt. 

Tambo.—Yes, sir; the first day I was out there a 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


69 

bull helped me over the fence and landed me in a 
ditch, the shock actually broke my necktie. Then I 
went fishing—don’t you like fishing? 

Mid.—It is my favorite pastime. 

Tambo.—I hooked on an old boot for bait and 
waited for a bite. The first thing I knew I went head 
first into the creek. Oh, what a bite! I climbed back 
on shore again and pulled in the line. 

Mid.—What did you hook? 

Tambo.—A tin kettle. I got sick of fishing when I 
saw that and started home. I got up to bed and then 
the fun began. All the lightning bugs and mosquitoes 
came into that room to get acquainted with me. I 
had a very nice time. I hammered away at them until 
daylight. Oh, I love the country! Then I went to look 
for my hat in the morning. 

Mid.—You found it, of course. 

Tambo.—Yes, found it over in the corner and the 
cat was laying in it, and had a new family of six kit¬ 
tens in my new hat. Oh! I love the country. I went 
down stairs to wash myself and they gave me a wash 
bowl made out of a pumpkin cut in half—and the 
soap. Oh, that good strong, yellow soap. It gouged 
my eyes nearly out of my head. I’m telling no lie. 
Then I groped around with my eyes full of soap for a 
towel and wiped on a coonskin. That was a nice crash 
towel, wasn’t it. Oh! I love the country. 

Mid.—You have been unfortunate. 

Tambo.—Yes; that isn’t all. You go out and get 
some water at the creek to make coffee, and the first 
cup you pour out is chock full of tadpoles. No use try¬ 
ing to settle that kind of coffee grounds. 

Mid.—I think I’d rather live in the city. 

Tambo.—Yes; you bet I would. But the country 
has some nice things, too. You go out in the morning 
and see the nice red roses; you reach out and take one 
—and you drop it, for a big bee in the rose requests 


70 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

you to do so. Then you step on a wasp and he calls 
his friends and in a few moments your face looks like 
a boiled tomato. But some things are good in the 
country. Now, I had a good time at a party. 

Mid.—Oh! yes; the parties. I admire them. 

Tambo.—We had a nice time; had all kinds of 
games; played “who’s in the well.” A big aunt of 
mine who weighs two hundred pounds got in the well 
and called on me to help her out, and I busted two new 
paper collars doing it. Then we played “postoffice.” 
One young lady lost an eye playing it. 

Mid.—Very sad, indeed. How did she lose it? 

Tambo.—Why, it rolled under the bureau, and she 
couldn’t find it. It cost ten dollars to get a new one. 
Then we went down to supper. We had corned beef 
and cabbage, and pork and beans. I know you’d en¬ 
joyed yourself if you had been there. Oh! I can just 
imagine you pitching into that corned beef and cab¬ 
bage. Oh! how you would have cleaned out that 
supper. 

Mid.—You have a good opinion of my appetite. 

Tambo.—And the liquors. Oh! we had all kinds. 
We had hard cider and soft Jersey lightning, and we 
had old bourbon whiskey. Then I did wish you were 
there. 

Mid.—Why, sir? 

Tambo.—Oh! we’d got biling full. You and I 
would have got chock full. 

Mid.—You might have got intoxicated, but as for 
myself—I never allow a drink to pass my lips. 

Tambo.—No, you stop it going by. So you don’t 
drink, eh? 

Mid.—No, sir; I have no love for liquor. I love 
water. 

Tambo.—Come out and drink from our pump. 

Mid.—Your pump. I went there to that old pump 
and took hold of the handle and pumped and pumped 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 7 1 

for a half hour. I couldn’t raise a drop of water out 
of that pump. 

Tambo.—That’s easily accounted for. The sucker 
was at the wrong end of the pump. 


“COULDN’T TAKE THE JOB/’ 

End.—You see some very funny things in the pa¬ 
pers, don’t you? 

Mid.—Do you take the papers? 

End.—I do if I get up before the man next door. 
There’s an Irishman on our street who reads the pa¬ 
pers, and expects to find a good job. The other day 
he got the paper late, and he saw where Mr. Vander¬ 
bilt wanted a new footman—a valet. So he started up 
Fifth avenue—walked all the way up to Vanderbilt’s 
mansion and got there about three o’clock in the 
morning. He rang the bell and Vanderbilt himself 
came to the door. “Well, what do you want?” says he. 
“I saw your advertisement in the paper that you 
wanted a valet,” said the Irishman. “What do you 
come here for at this time of the morning?” says Van¬ 
derbilt, angry. “I came up,” said Mike, “to tell you 
that I couldn’t take the job.” 


“MARRIED INTO A MEAN FAMILY.” 

End.—You don’t know my brother Bill, do you? 
Mid.—Why, of course I do. 

End.—Well, Bill has had hard luck lately. You see 
he belongs to a base ball club. I joined the same club. 
Bill belongs to the club more than I do; he plays right 




72 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


field. I got left last summer. They only put me out 
there now to keep the sun off of Bill. Well, one day 
he was playing the “Electric Lights,” and a fly was 
knocked to Bill, and while Bill stood looking at the 
fly there was a goat standing behind Bill. It was the 
other kind of a goat, a male-man goat—a boy goat— 
and just about the time that Bill was going to catch 
the ball the goat caught Bill (on the fly), and Bill, well 
he’s been walking around lame ever since; he can’t 
see where it was he was struck. Yes, Bill has had 
awful bad luck. Bill married into a large family, and 
he’s got the meanest mother-in-law you ever saw. Oh! 
she’s awful mean. Well, she’s so mean that if she leans 
against a peach tree in the summer it will die in the 
fall. Why, when she lost her first husband the under¬ 
taker came around to the house and asked her 
what kind of a coffin she wanted, and she said, “Bring 
around something this side of six dollars; this is no 
picnic.” “Well,” he says, “shall I put a plate on the 
coffin?” She says, “No; I’m going to change my 
name pretty soon, so you can take the plate off the 
door down-stairs.” Then he wanted to know if she 
required any ice. She says, “Bring around twenty 
cents worth and put it on his head. You needn’t touch 
his feet, they were frost-bitten last winter.” 


“BOSTON’S CORRECT LANGUAGE.” 


End.—When I was a child I was a very pretty 
child. You’ve seen the pictures of pretty children in 
front of photograph galleries? All mine. 

Mid.—You don’t say! I was a very handsome 
child myself. The old saying is,“Handsome babies 
grow to be very homely men.” 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 73 

End.—You must have been awful handsome. I 
suppose you like singing? 

Mid.—That last song took the rag off the bush. 

End.—That’s nice language—takes the rag off the 
bush. I’m ashamed of you. You ought to say, “That 
removes the dilapidated linen from off the shrubbery.” 

Mid.—Does your mother know you’re out? 

End.—There you go again. You should say, “Is 
your maternal parent aware of your clandestine ab¬ 
sence from the parental domicile?” That’s Boston 
for you. I’ll get a good position some day. 

Mid.—Let me give you a piece of advice: Never 
count your chickens before they are hatched. 

End.—Oh! worse and worse. Here’s what you 
ought to say: Never calculate the amount of your 
juvenile poultry before the process of incubation has 
been realized. But let language rest for a moment. 
You said you liked songs—so do I; but I admire the 
old, old, songs. Do you remember “Old Uncle Ned?” 

Mid.—Yes; but I have not sung it for many years. 

End.—Try a verse. I don’t believe you know the 
correct words. 

Mid.—(Mid. sings a verse, and at the low note End 
says, “He’ll be back in a minute.”) 

End.—Now, you’ve sung that song, but that’s the 
old way I’ll show you how it’s sung in Boston— 
how it ought to be sung. (Sings.) I once formed the 
acquaintance of an aged colored individual. His cog¬ 
nomen was Uncle Edwin, and he died many years pre¬ 
vious; He had no capillary substance on the summit 
of his cranium—the place where the capillary sub¬ 
stance ought to vegetate. Then lay down your agri¬ 
cultural implement; let the violin be suspended on 
the wall. For there’s no more physical energy to be 
displayed by Uncle Edwin—for he’s gone to that 
resting place designated by a good kind Providence— 


74 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


where all good respectable colored individuals termin¬ 
ate their existence—“Amen.” 


“THE JUMPING FROG” 

End.—I was down in the fish market yesterday and 
the first thing I knew my fingers got entangled in a 
fish net and a policeman came to help me out of it. 
I saw him coming and I was in a hurry to get home 
and he was going the same way. We both ran. I 
. ran faster than he did. All of a sudden somebody 
slipped and fell. 

Mid.—Who was it? 

End.—Me. Before I could get up I got entangled 
all over in that net and the policeman took me before 
the bald-headed rooster that sat up on a high bench— 

Mid.—The Judge? 

End.—Yes. He looked at me all wrapt up in the 
net and he says, “Discharge the prisoner!” 

Mid.—Discharge him! Why? 

End.—“Because,” says the Judge, “Don’t you see 
he is insane”—[in seine]. I got off lucky, didn’t I? 

Mid.—Well I should say you did, but that’s noth¬ 
ing. Justice is very slack in some cases. Murderers 
hardly ever get their just deserts, and they boast that 
“hanging is played out.” 

End.—Yes, that’s so—“hanging is played out.” A 
friend of mine who keeps the saloon next door told 
me so. I went in this morning to get a drink and he 
refused to “hang up” the drinks, so I left. Did I tell 
you I came very near getting intoxicated yesterday. 

Mid. No. I thought you did not drink anything 
strong. 

End.—Well I don’t; this wasn’t powerful. The 
barkeeper told me when I was pouring it out that it 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 75 

might get to my head. I told him it was too weak to 
climb. 

Mid.—You should not drink at all. 

End.—I had to. I was awful sick. I had the 
shakes. 

Mid.—The effects of liquor? 

End.—No, I had the fever and ague. Oh, I shook 
everybody. I shook myself clean out of my overcoat. 
I shook the gold out of a hollow tooth. I shook 
pretty lively for a sick man. I went up to the hotel 
and went to bed. 

Mid.—The best thing you could do. 

End.—The moment I turned down the bedspread 
I turned pale. Oh, you ought to have seen the com¬ 
pany I had. 

Mid.—What was it? 

End.—Bed bugs! Millions of them. I rang the 
bell for the landlord and he came running up. He 
says, “What’s the matter?” I says, “landy,” old boy, 
go and get me a horse and a set of harness. He says, 
“What for?” I told him I was going out to take a 
ride. He says, “A ride? What are you going to 
ride in?” I says in there, in that bed. I told him the 
bed had become a “little buggy.” 

Mid.—What did he do? 

End.—He went and stood the segars. 

Mid.—A very good fellow. 

End.—No. He played an awful mean trick on me. 
I had a little frog that I had trained to jump. He 
was the best jumper you ever saw. I was telling the 
landlord about him and I told him I’d bet twenty-five 
dollars that my frog could out jump any frog in the 
country. He took the bet, and he says go down to 
the frog pond and get me a frog. 

Mid.—Did you? 

End.—Yes. I thought I would accommodate him. 
I knew I had a sure thing. I knew my frog could 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


76 

hop the life out of any other, so I went down to the 
frog pond and caught a big one ana came back. We 
put the two frogs side by side. I says, when we say 
“ready” you touch your frog and I’ll touch mine— 
whichever jumps the farthest takes the money. So 
we said “ready.” He touched his frog and I touched 
mine. 

Mid.—What was the result? 

End.—His frog jumped clean over into the pond. 
Mine didn’t budge an inch! Didn’t move! 

Mid.—Why, how was that? 

End.—Well, you see when I went to catch a frog for 
the landlord he made my frog swallow a handful of 
buckshot, and it loaded him so heavy that he couldn’t 
move. 


POULTRY AND FRUIT. 

Tambo.—I tell you I’ve got through spending 
money. I’m going to be on the save. 

Mid.—That’s right, sir; lay up something for a 
rainy day. 

Tambo.—So I have. I’ve layed up an umbrella. 
I think I’ll go back into the grocery business and raise 
poultry. 

Mid.—Speaking of poultry, I bought some geese 
from you. I’m very fond of their eggs. 

Tambo.—“Eggs-actly.” 

Mid.—And tho’ I’ve had them about a year they 
don’t lay any eggs. 

Tambo.—You picked ’em out yourself out of the 
flock, didn’t you? 

Mid.—Yes. but they don’t lay any eggs. 

Tambo.—Do you expect them to lay any eggs? ha! 
ha! You’re the bigeest fool I ever saw. 

Mid.—And why shouldn’t they lay eggs for me? 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 77 

Tambo.—Because all them I sold you are ganders. 
Keep on waiting for eggs. 

Mid.—You scoundrel. I’ll have you arrested for 
swindling. 

Tambo.—Don’t have me arrested, for I’ve just got 
out. A tailor had me arrested last week, but he got 
paid back for it. He went skating and fell thro’ the 
ice. I asked him how he liked it. He said he’d rather 
have a “hot goose” than a “cold duck.” 

Mid.—But why did he have you arrested? 

Tambo.—He said I stole two pair of pants from 
him. 

Mid.—Did you steal them? 

End.—No. I borrowed them. So they couldn’t do 
anything to me. You see I borrowed them, and those 
pants were simply “breeches of trust.” 


CURIOSITIES FOR A MUSEUM. 

End.—I’m engaged hunting up curiosities for a 
dime museum. 

Mid.—So am I, and I’ve got some wonders. Do 
you think that things without life can move or talk? 

End.—Why certainly. Last year I saw a watch 
spring, a rope walk, a horse fly, a match box, a peanut 
stand, a mill dam, an oyster fry and a cat fish. I ex¬ 
pect to see a stone fence a cane brake and a bank run. 

Mid.—Did you ever see a gum boil, a shoe shop, or 
hear a codfish “bawl?” 

End.—No, but I’ve seen a cow slip, a plank walk, 
a horse whip, a tree box and a chimney smoke. 

Mid.—So have I, and I’ve seen a sword fish and 
butter run. 

End.—I’ve seen alligator’s skin shoes, hog skin 
boots and a horse hide slippers. I’ve heard a tree 



78 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


bark, heard it “holler” and in the spring leave its 
trunk for fine board. 

Mid.—What kind of board is “fine board?” 

End.—Saw dust. That’s as fine as you can get 
board. 


“HOW THE DIFFERENT GIRLS KISS.” 

(As arranged by Frank Dumont for Lew Dockstader.) 

The New York girl bows her stately head, 

And fixes her stylish lips 

In a firm, hard way—and lets ’em go, 

And sips, and sips, and sips. 

The Baltimore girl has a way of her own, 

In a clinging, soulful way, 

She takes a kiss that just as big, 

As a wagon load of hay. 

The Chicago girl gets a grip on herself 
And carefully takes off her hat, 

Then grabs the man in a frenzied way, 

Like a terrier shaking a rat. 

The Boston girl takes off her specs, 

So cool—so cold—so glum. 

She sticks out her lips—like an open book, 

And keeps on chewing gum. 

The Philadelphia girl never says a word, 

She’s so gentle—timid and tame. 

But she grabs a young man by the back of the neck, 
And gets there, just the same. 


“WRITING A NOVEL.” 

[End puts on spectacles and opens paper.] 

Mid.—Well, sir, what are you doing with those 
glasses above your nose? 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


79 


Bones.—It’s funny to see them there, ain’t it? 

Mid.—Yes it is. 

Bones.—I never see you get them above your nose; 
they never reach that far; they can’t pass your mouth. 
That mouth would attract any glass. 

Mid.—But, sir, what are you doing with that old 
newspaper; reading railroad accidents? 

Bones.—No, dat’s de ledger. Thar’s a new story 
out. 

Mid.—Well, sir, what is the title? 

Bones.—Eh, what’s dat? 

Mid.—I say what’s the name of this interesting 
story? 

Bones.—Oh, de name you mean. Oh, its called the 
“Enchanted Cheese Knife or the Fancy Spit Ball of the 
Black Gulch.” It’s by Sylvanus Corncob. If you 
will keep still I will read it to you. 

Mid.—Well, proceed at once. 

Bones.—All keep quiet. Well, I’ll go on, chapter 
the oncet. 

Mid.—-Chapter the first. 

Bones.—Can you see from over there? I say, and 
I repeat in a voice of thunder, chapter the wonst! 

Mid.—Well, sir, go on; have it your own way and 
give us a synopsis of the story. 

Bones.—Dar ain’t no slops in de story. 

Mid.—Well, go on, anyway. 

Bones.—Chapter de wonst [reads]. It was morn¬ 
ing on the coast of Alaska and it had been morning for 
more’n two hours when along the coast might have 
been seen a solitary footman on horseback and one 
small dog they had been walking for (2,000) dollars 
for a long ways (but they didn’t get it). Suddenly it 
was the cry “draw the stakes,” and our hero sailed for 
a pork chop while visions of a dry Sunday floated 
before his weary eyes. He come to a cottage, at the 


8 g 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


door stood a lovely female, in her hand she held a 
delicate object. 

Mid.—What is it? 

Bones.—A damaged dish cloth. Now, then, chap¬ 
ter the twicest. 

Mid.—No, sir, chapter the second. 

Bones.—I say and do say as heretofore I always 
said and do say chapter the twicest. 

Mid.—The member from Texas will please keep 
his seat and not interrupt the gentleman from Massa¬ 
chusetts. 

Bones.—Say, Fitzsimmons, come up here and bust 
this feller in de snoot. 

Mid.—Well, sir, go on with your story. 

Bones.—Well, chapter de twicest. It was evening 
and the fair Lucretia Jane Eliza Vonmocksmith wan¬ 
dered fourth or fifth into the cool breezes of the woods 
with something slung over her arm. 

Mid.—Tell us what it is. 

Bones.—It’s a sewing machine. The gentle tones 
of the bull frog warble gentle as they hear her wel¬ 
come cough. Suddenly she hears a noise in the 
bushes. Oh, heavens! what is that form? Oh, it is 
her beloved Alonzo, who rushes to her side and ad¬ 
dresses her thus in the key of G: Fly, oh, fle-high, my 
beloved with me to the hills. Why am I if I could 
not be as I am. I am not as I could be and beest as 
I am. Why amn’t I? Chapter the three times: 

Mid.—No, sir, chapter the third. 

Bones.—Who’s reading this story—you or I? I 
repeat, sir, chapter the three times. It was night 
on de coast of Italy and a smell of cheese was heard 
in de distance, when suddenly there came to view two 
Dutchmen, one with a meat axe, the other with a 
sausage machine. Listen, we may hear something of 
our lover’s parients. Ah, they speak: “Dat marx nix 
from dat oofty goof wipe nax wipen kin sloser. Ku 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


81 


kluk undir von dat weehanken.” The other Dutch¬ 
man says, “I swish nix, I tinks yust like you tinks, 
don’t make no difference like de goose hangs high 
up root hog or you make yourself dead.” Suddenly 
he seizes the meat axe. Great New Haven! He 
seizes our heroine by the hair of her head, which comes 
off in two pulls (it’s only borrowed) and her lover is 
seen in the distance raising clouds of dust, making for 
New York to see if the new city hall is built. Raising 
his axe, the big Dutchman says “I’m your mudder, fly 
von your fadder’s arms,” and swallows his sausage 
machine while he exclaims— 

Mid.—What? 

Bones.—Who told Spain she could size up against 
the American eagle! 


LAW IN ALASKA. 

End.—I’ve been out to the Klondike. It’s a great 
place. We had to keep the windows closed to pre¬ 
vent the gold dust from blowing into our rooms. 
And each window is just four feet five inches and a 
half. 

Mid.—How come you to be so very exact? 

End.—I thought some fool would ask me, so I 
measured it. There was a widow out there named 
Rugg. She married a Mister Price. That was get¬ 
ting rid of an old Rugg for a good “Price.” We had 
a strange thing happen out there where I showed my 
wisdom. There were two shoemakers in the camp, 
and one blacksmith. These three fellows got arrested 
for killing a man. It was the blacksmith that did it. 
I proved that. The shoemakers were innocent. But 
you see we only had one blacksmith in the place and 
two shoemakers. 

Mid.—What did you do? 

End.—We hung one of the shoemakers. 

6 



82 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


THE ADVANTAGES OF EDUCATION. 

End.—What are you doing now-a-days? 

Mid.—Still practicing at the bar. 

End.—Anybody can tell that, but I mean do you 
ever work? 

Mid.—I labor with my brains. 

End.—You don’t work at all then, do you? I 
thought you worked with you jaws. 

Mid.—If you mean speaking, I certainly do an 
amount of it; I am a lawyer, and, sir, I’m in politics. 
I’ve just been elected to the legislature. I defeated 
another lawyer. I’ll tell you how I did it. Wherever 
there was a crowd of Dutch voters I talked German 
to them. There’s where I had the advantage of him. 
Wherever there chanced to be a lot of French voters 
I talked French to them, and there I had the advant¬ 
age of him again. If there was any Welshmen in the 
crowd I talked Welsh to them. There’s where I had 
the advantage of him again. [Laughs.] Of course 
my rival was a clever, sensible, honest, truthful man. 

End.—Yes, and there’s where he had the advantage 
of you! 


HOW IS BUSINESS? 

End.—Business is pretty bad all over. All trades 
are suffering. Shoemakers think the times want 
“mending,” watchmakers say their watches “don’t go.” 
They’re waiting for “spring” to bring on a “move¬ 
ment” or it will “wind” them up. 

Mid.—How’s the undertaker business? 

End.—Oh that’s dead—and “stiff.” Furniture deal¬ 
ers say that they haven’t got a “leg to stand on,” and 
they can’t “bolster” up at all or get “tick” anywhere 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


83 


Mid.—How are writing materials? 

End.—Stationary. But the rag business is “picking 
up.” Cheese looks lively and is liable to “skip” up 
any time. Livery stable business is at a “stand.” 

Mid.—How are the painters? 

End.—Looking “blue,” and it will look “black” 
before long. 

Mid.—How’s the powder business? 

End.—Oh! That’s booming. Umbrellas are “go¬ 
ing up,” too. 

Mid.—How are vegetables? 

End.—Something may “turn up”—can’t say. Bar¬ 
bers are doing a lathering business and making lots of 
soap. A dude, who had just begun to shave for beard, 
stepped into a barber’s shop, and after a grand swag¬ 
ger, desired to be shaved. The barber went through 
the usual movement, and the young sprig jumped up 
with a flourish, exclaiming, “Maw foine fellow, what’s 
your chawge?” “Oh, no charge,” was the reply. 
“No chawge! how’s that?” “Why, we are always 
thankful when we can get soft calf skin to strap our 
razors on.” 


VERY LARGE PUNCH BOWL. 

Mid.—You seem to be a smart fellow, now take 
the word “inheritance,” what is it? 

End.—Inheritance is patrimony. 

Mid.—What is patrimony? 

End.—Something left by a father. 

Mid.—What would you call it, if left by a mother? 

End.—Matrimony! You’ve been abroad, haven’t 
you? 

Mid.—Yes, sir. I returned to dear old England last 
summer. And say, I want to tell you about a punch 
bowl I saw over there at the Marquis of Waterford’s 



84 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


wedding. It was so large that there was a row boat 
sailing in it, and a boy sat in the boat to ladle out the 
punch to us. Would you believe that? 

End.—Certainly. But that would be a tea cup for 
the one we had down east on the farm. This punch 
bowl was so big and so deep that it was never empty. 
If we children said it wasn’t sweet enough father would 
send down a man in a diving suit to stir up the sugar 
from the bottom, and he’d be down there six weeks 
doing it. 


SWALLOWED AN EGG. 

End.—I’m in an awful fix. You know I’m fond of 
eggs, and if I can’t buy any I’ll steal them. 

Mid.—I know you are an all around poultry thief. 

End.—Well, I was over in the market and I had 
just picked up an egg and before I could hide it in 
my pocket along came the owner of the egg stand. 
So I quick put the egg in my mouth. I thought it 
was safe there. The man came along and he says, 
“Hello, Charley,” and he slapped me on the back. 
That made me swallow the egg. It’s in me yet. Oh! 
I’m in an awful fix. 

Mid.—Why? 

End.—If I sit still the egg will hatch. If I move 
around the egg will break and cut me all to pieces 
with the egg shell. Oh! and if it hatches there will 
be a great big shanghai rooster inside of me scratch¬ 
ing for corn. 


THE POWER OF LANGUAGE. 

End.—I drove out with my new horse the other 
day and I tell you I electrified everybody. I was out 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 85 

to dazzle the multitude that day, and I did. I drove 
up to a tavern and hitched my horse to a post so he 
wouldn’t fall and called the stable boy to me and I 
slung my best language at him. I said, “Diminuative 
Ethiopian come hither; abstract the equine quadruped 
from the vehicle and let him meander gently to the 
habitation wherein his species are provided with ade¬ 
quate provender; stabulate him and appease his appe¬ 
tite prodigiously; carefully remove the stains of travel 
from his cuticle, and when the sun appears above the 
eastern horizon call on me and I will liberally recom¬ 
pense you for your indefatigable exertions and your 
generous hospitality.” 

Mid.—Did the boy understand you? 

End.—Oh, yes. He went in and told his father that 
there was a black Dutchman out there who wanted a 
gallon of lager beer and two quarts of sourkraut in 
the stable. 


PERHAPS I WILL AND PERHAPS I WON’T. 

Jim.— [Cries.] I never can get over it. 

Mid.—What’s the cause of this distress? 

Jim.—Oh, I can’t tell you [boo hoo], my heart is 
broke. 

Mid.—Nonsense, sir, your heart is .not broken. 

Jim.—Yes it is; I can feel a piece of it sticking out 
of my ear. [Cries.] Oh, that gal! that gal! 

Mid.—Well, sir, do tell me of that girl. 

Jim.—She was a charming girl. She was good, her 
hair was the color of maple sugar. She was beautiful. 
She had a mouth. Every time she smiled her mouth 
looked like an India rubber shoe stretched around a 
lamp-post; lips on her like the handles of a Dutch 
trunk; feet on her like a giraffe’s back in distress; a 



86 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


hand on her like a whale’s ear, but still for all those 
little faults, she was magnolias. 

Mid.—Did she ever tell her love? 

Jim.—No, she never did, but she let congealment 
like a worm in the mud feed on her damaged chop. 
I went to her house one night—you see this girl was 
very well off, had plenty of money—I didn’t care for 
the girl so much as I did for her money. So I wanted 
her to elope with me and I called her to the window 
and she came down the ladder and she says, “Will you 
be a good husband to me?” 

Mid.—What did you say? 

Jim.—Now, you see I didn’t care for the gal a bit, 
it was her money I was after. 

Mid.—Well, what did you say? 

Jim.—I says perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t. 

Mid.—Rather a short answer. 

Jim.—Yes, so she asked me again. 

Mid.—Well, what did you say the second time? 

Jim.—Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t. So we 
went on a short ways, and she says, “Oh, Jim, I’ve for¬ 
got my money.” Says I, “Go right back and get it.” 
So back we started and she sailed up the ladder and 
she stopped kinder long. So I sung out, “Lucy, 
ain’t you coming down?” She poked her head out of 
the wmdow and exclaimed— 

Mid.—What? 

Jim.—Perhaps I will and perhaps I won’t. 


EATING DUMPLINGS. 

End.—I took my young lady into a restaurant the 
other day. She had never been in one before, and 
she had her appetite with her. She nearly broke me. 
There was a little pig on one end of the table, and 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


87 

she said she’d try some of that. Well, she began to 
eat hog till she squealed. Ton my word she grunted 
before she stopped. Then I asked her if she d have a 
dumpling. She said she’d try a few. She ate a dozen 
dumplings. The last one stuck in her throat and she 
flopped on the floor in a fit. 

Mid.—She was strangling. 

End.—Yes, I rushed for a doctor, but couldn’t find 
one. So I grabbed a corkscrew and ran it down her 
throat to pull the dumpling out. But there it stuck 
while I pulled and pulled. It was the cook’s fault 
who made the dumplings. 

Mid.—Why the cook’s fault? 

End.—You see the cook was cross-eyed and put the 
short’ning in lengthways—every time I’d pull the 
dumpling would stretch. 


“QUEER ADVERTISEMENTS.” 

End.—“Great age” this we live in. People don’t 
laugh now-a-days—they indulge in merriment. They 
don’t walk—they promenade. They never eat any 
food—they masticate it. Nobody has a tooth pulled— 
it is extracted. No one has his feelings hurt—they 
are lacerated. Young men do not go courting the 
girls—they pay the young ladies attention. It is vul¬ 
gar to visit any one—you must only make a call. Of 
course, you would not think of going to bed—you 
would retire to rest. Nor would you build a house— 
you would erect it. 

Mid.—Everything is progressing. 

End.—Yes, even advertisements do not read as they 
used to. Now listen to this one. [Reads paper.] 
“Wanted by a lady of quality, for adequate remunera¬ 
tion, a few well-behaved and respectably dressed chil- 



88 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

dren to amuse a cat in delicate health two or three 
hours a day.” How’s that for a job? To amuse a 
sick cat. And here’s another: “Wanted, a boy to 
open oysters eighteen years old.” You don’t catch 
me eating any of those oysters. Oh! listen to this 
one: “Two sisters want washing.” Turn the hose 
on them! Here’s a good job for you: “A widow 
wants a gentleman for breakfast and dinner.” Here’s 
something: “Lost—an overcoat belonging to a man 
lined with red flannel.” He must be warm. Here’s 
another furrier advertisement: “All sorts of furs 
made here—ladies can have jackets made out of their 
own skins.” Oh! here’s a great chance: “For sale— 
a piano, by a young lady with carved mahogany legs.” 
[Looks surprised and folds paper.] 


HOLD YOUR HEAD UP. 

End.—My brother was coming down stairs with a 
dozen bottles of beer. He fell and went head first 
down two flights of stairs. 

Mid.—That was terrible. I dare say he cut himself 
with the broken bottles. 

End.—No. He had the dozen bottles of beer inside 
of him. My brother knows where to carry them. 

Mid.—Liquor is a very bad thing and is the cause of 
much distress. 

End.—Yes. I was all run down and the doctor 
advised me to take a little liquor. So I went and got 
a barrel. It took four of us to get it up to my room. 
But I gained strength quick. Before the barrel had 
been in my room ten days I could hold it up at arm’s 
length myself. 

Mid.—Still you go along the street holding your 
head down. Hold your head up same as I do. That 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 89 

shows what you are. Hold your head up as I do. 
Don’t hold it down. 

End.—Did you ever go through a field of wheat? 
You’ve noticed some of the stalks are standing straight 
up? Well, there’s nothing in them! 


MAKING A PAIR OF SHOES. 

End.—I understand that you are a shoemaker. Now 
how would you go to work to make a first-class pair of 
shoes? 

Mid.—Why, I’d make the soles of the best oak 
leather, the uppers of the best French kid and I’d 
line them with lamb’s wool. There, sir, is a pair of 
shoes that can’t be beat. 

End.—Those would be good South street shoes. 
But I’ll tell you how to make the best pair of shoes 
that you ever saw. I’d make the uppers of drunkard’s 
throats. They’d be warranted never to take water. 
I’d line them with young lover’s hearts. They’d al¬ 
ways be warm and comfortable. The soles— 

Mid.—What would you make the soles of? 

End.—I’d make the soles of old maid’s tongues, be¬ 
cause they’d be everlasting and never wear out. 


“RAISING GRASSHOPPERS.” 

Mid.—Do you ride a bike? and do you know there’s 
a trick in riding a wheel? 

End.—Yes, indeed. I tumbled the first thing. My 
girl taught me how to ride a wheel. Oh! I kissed her 
for each lesson. She’s the sweetest kisser in this town. 




90 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


She uses pulverized sugar for face powder—so I get 
them sweet, don’t I? Her father is a Pole? 

Mid.—Then he’s a foreigner. 

End.—But all Poles are our most patriotic foreign¬ 
ers. They all carry a flag. I says to her once, “Do 
you know that all dreams go by contraries? I 
dreamed that I had asked you to be my wife.” She 
says, “Yes, and I dreamed that I had refused you.” 
She had me there. I had to marry her. We’ve got 
one dear little boy. They say he looks like me, but he 
can’t help that. He’ll outgrow it. My brother’s got 
a good start in the world. He married a widow with 
nine children. 

Mid.—Woman is like ivy—the more you are ruined 
the closer she clings to you. 

End.—That’s so—the closer she clings to you the 
more you are ruined. Friends of ours got married last 
week. Miss Hopper married Mr. Grass. He didn’t 
have any money, but a heart full of love and she an 
affection for him. 

Mid.—That was better than gold for Miss Hopper 
and Mr. Grass. 

End.—Yes. I wrote a poem for the occasion: 


Miss Hopper married Mr. Grass, 

He didn’t have ten coppers; 

Hopper and Grass will go out west, 

And there they’ll raise “Grasshoppers.” 


FISH MAKES BRAINS. 

End.-—I’m a very smart man if I do say it myself. 
I was born the last month in the year, the last week in 
the month, the last day in the week, the last hour in the 
day, the last minute in the hour, the last second in the 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


91 


minute, and if I hadn’t been smart I wouldn’t have 
been born at all. I was counted the smartest boy in 
school. If any of the neighbors lost anything they 
always came to our house to find it. Mother used to 
feed me on raw mustard and red pepper to make me 
smart. I used to get up an hour before day just to 
get out early. When I was a little bit of a baby I 
used to lie in my mother’s arms and breathe as natur¬ 
ally as a full grown person. 

Mid.—You must have a wonderful brain. 

End.—I have. I’ve got more brains than I know 
what to do with. 

Mid.—Eat plenty of fish and increase them. Fish 
contains phosphorus, and phosphorus makes brains. 

End.—Does fish make brains? 

Mid.—Yes, sir. Fish makes brains. 

End.—Then you’d ought to go and eat a whale. 


KISSING. 

End.—Have you ever given the subject of kissing 
any attention? I have, for I’m fond of kissing and I 
love to practice it whenever I get a chance. There are 
various kinds of kissing. 

Mid.—Yes, there’s the loving kiss of a sister. 

End.—Or the loving kiss of some other fellow’s 
sister. Kisses have been defined in various ways. It 
is the poorest mother’s richest gift. A kiss is the 
safety valve to exuberant feelings. A kiss is cupid’s 
sealing wax—if the girl is stationery. A kiss is the 
sounding system used by the operator in sending a 
telegram to the heart. A kiss is woman’s most ef¬ 
fective argument. The shape of a kiss is el-lip-tical. 
Girls are fond of kissing—so fond of it that whenever 
they meet they run up and kiss each other. Men don’t 



92 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


do that. They merely “smile”—at the nearest saloon. 
A kiss is a shock from nature’s own electric battery. 
A kiss is the shortest and quickest way a wife can reach 
her husband’s pockets. What is nicer, sweeter or 
more exhilarating than kissing your sweetheart good¬ 
bye at the front door? A kiss is like the earth. It’s 
made out of nothing—but it’s mighty good! The best 
way to get a kiss is steal it—do it right under her 
very nose. She may say “stop,” but she doesn’t mean 
it—she means “keep on doing it.” A kiss is two 
heads and one application. 

Mid.—You seem to be pretty well posted on kissing. 

End.—Indeed, I am. The girls send for me when 
they want to be kissed. Do you know what two old 
maids kissing each other remind me of? 

Mid.—What do they remind you of? 

End.—Two old flints trying to strike fire! 


HOTEL REGULATIONS. 

End.—I’ve been out to Dawson City digging for 
gold. Well, not exactly digging for it, but running 
a hotel in order to let others dig the gold and bring 
it to me. 

Mid.—I dare say running a hotel out there is diffi¬ 
cult work. 

End.—Well, yes, but I had a set of rules printed. 
Here they are. [Shows paper.] I’ll read them 
to you, and I enforced them, too. [Reads.] 
“Rules of this hotel. Boarders will be taken 
by the week, and taken by the neck if they don’t 
pay. Don’t use the carpet to wipe your face on or 
tear off the wall paper to light your pipes. Whistle 
to the waiters to call them—don’t shoot at them—you 
might break the dishes. Please remove your boots 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


93 


before going to bed. Get up early, as we use the 
sheets for table cloths. Beds with or without bugs. 
Night mares hired out at reasonable rates. Guests 
will not put their feet on the diningroom table if ladies 
are present. Don’t put your jewelry or gold dust in 
the safe. Any of the boarders will take it. First man 
up gets the best pair of pants. If you snore go sleep 
with the dog.” 

Mid.—A fine lot of rules for a hotel. 

End.—Yes, I had a double-barreled gun instead of a 
bell. I’d shoot off one barrel to let ’em know that 
dinner was ready. 

Mid.—Why didn’t you shoot off the other barrel? 

End.—Oh no! I kept that to collect with! 


OFF TO THE SEAT OF WAR. 

End.—I won a great naval victory to-day. I took 
two schooners over a bar, and got away with them. 
My girl asked me if I was going to enlist. I told 
her that owing to the increased tax on beer I was 
going to stay home and drink enough of it to help 
the government along. She presented me with a 
dog, and I don’t know what to think about it. On 
the dog’s collar was the inscription, “Love one an¬ 
other.” I wonder if she took me for another puppy. 
I asked her to put my love to the test, and she says, 
“Go to the war and be my friend Jack’s substitute.” 
I couldn’t see it. Let Jack go and get shot himself. 
I’ll stay here and get “half shot” at my own expense. 
Here’s a poem about a brave man leaving his wife: 

She flung her arms around him, 

And she begged him not to go; 

Tear drops trembled on her lashes, 

And her breast was filled with woe. 



94 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


But he kissed her on the forehead, 
And he quieted her down, 

Then he stole out through the kitchen 
And at once made off to town. 

But he didn’t get a musket— 

That was not his little plan— 

He was off to see the ballet 
With another married man. 


VERY MEAN FATHER. 

E. ?d.—That’s an awful mean congregation where 
you go to church. Our parson went over there to 
preach and then he passed his hat around. It went 
all through the congregation and was handed back to 
him. How much do you ’spose was in the hat? 

Mid.—Six or seven dollars! 

End.—No, sir, not a cent. The parson looked at 
his hat and said, “Bretheren and sistern, I’m very, 
very thankful.” 

Mid.—Thankful for what? 

End.—Thankful to get this hat back again. Your 
father is a mean man. He’s a policeman, and when 
they come around with the contribution box your fa¬ 
ther just shows his badge. Oh! but he’s a mean man. 
He talks through his nose to save his teeth from wear¬ 
ing out. He’s got a wart on the back of his neck and 
he uses it for a collar button. He feeds the hens 
boiling water so that they’ll lay hard boiled eggs. 
Oh, but he’s a mean man. I worked for him, but got 
the best of him. He says, now let’s have breakfast. 
We ate it. Then he says, to save time we’ll eat din¬ 
ner. I says, all right. So we ate dinner at the same 
time. Then says he, we’ll have supper. So we ate 
supper—three meals all at once. Now, says he, we’ll 
go out and do a big day’s work and lose no time. I 
says, “excuse me, I never work after supper.” 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


95 


MAN’S RIBS AND ANGEL CAKE. 

End.—Say! I had an argument to-day—who was 
made first? 

Mid.—Why, man of course. 

End.—I thought so, for if woman had been created 
first she wouldn’t have her mind made up yet what 
kind of a man would suit her. 

Mid.—Woman was created out of man’s rib. 

End.—I know that. I was arrested the other day 
and an old maid was the cause of it. She claimed 
that I tickled her on the ribs while she was standing 
in a crowd. I told the Judge it wasn’t so, but it 
looked as if I was going to jail, when an idea struck 
me. I says, “Judge, isn’t woman made of a man’s 
rib?” He says, “Yes.” “And this lady says I tickled 
her on the ribs?” “Yes.” “Well,” I says, “discharge 
me—a man has a perfect right to tickle his own rib if 
he wants to.” ’Twas a narrow escape, though! Can 
you tell a girl baby from a boy baby when you see 
’em in the nurse’s arms? I can. You’ll notice that 
the girl baby has more chin. My wife baked an 
angel cake for the first time a few days ago, and it 
was going to be tried on me. She came to me crying 
and says, “Oh! hubby, the cat has eaten up all the 
angel cake I baked for you.” I says, “Never mind, 
darling, I’ll get you another cat to-morrow!” 


FIRING OFF THE CANNON. 

End.—I’ve been in the navy with Sampson’s fleet. 
On our warship were two green Irishmen, Owney 
and Denny. They fooled around one of the big guns 
one night and one says, “Owney, did ye ever fire a 



96 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


cannon?” “I didn’t,” says' Denny, “but I’d like to. 
Here’s our chance, nobody’s looking.” “No,” says 
Owney, “the captain will hear it and chuck us over¬ 
board.’ “Not if you put an iron pot over the muzzle 
of the cannon,” says Denny. “All right, get the iron 
pot,” says Owney. And Denny got it and held it 
over the muzzle of the cannon to catch the shell and 
deaden the sound. Bang went the cannon and away 
went Denny, iron pot and all. The captain rushed 
on deck and yelled, “Who fired that cannon?” “I 
did,” says Owney, “but Denny caught the cannon ball 
in an iron pot—so it’s not wasted.” “Where is Den¬ 
ny?” says the captain. Owney says, “If he comes back 
as quick as he went, he’ll be here in two seconds.” 


“PECULIARITIES OF SPEECH.” 

End.—Have you ever noticed the way people of 
different nationalities speak? Some through their 
teeth, some open their mouths like the mammoth cave. 
A Dutchman and an Irishman always ask a question 
and answer it themselves. An Irishman will say, 
“What time is it? I don’t know.” And a Dutchman 
will say, “Is dem fishes fresh? Yes?” Once an Irish¬ 
man and a Dutchman were shipwrecked on an island. 
Now, you know an Irishman talks through his teeth 
with his mouth shut. A Dutchman can’t get his beer 
tunnel open wide enough. So, as I told you, they were 
shipwrecked and had but just a little piece of meat 
between them and starvation. The Irishman said, 
“Dutchy, I’ll give you a fair chance to see who gets 
this meat—you or I, for there isn’t enough for two. 
You take hold of it with your teeth and so will I. At 
the word we’ll pull and whoever gets it, eats it all.” 
So they both took hold of it by their teeth. “Are you 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 97 

ready?” says the Irishman, through his teeth. “Yaw,” 
says the Dutchman—and he lost the meat. 


THREE REALISTIC DREAMS. 

End.—There was once three men crossing the 
plains,—an Irishman, a Dutchman and an English¬ 
man. They were lost on the plains and only had a 
loaf of bread left—just enough for one. 

Mid.—They were in a very bad plight. 

End.—Yes. So they made it up to sleep that night 
and whoever got up in the morning and told the most 
realistic dream would get the loaf of bread. So they 
slept and all woke up at daylight. The Dutchman 
said, “I had a most realistic dream. I dreamt that you 
two fellows was so good-hearted that you made me a 
present of the loaf of bread. Wasn’t that real?” 
“Very good,” says the Englishman. “Now I had a 
very realistic dream. I dreamed that in crossing a 
river you and Pat were drowned and of course I had 
the loaf of bread. That’s a realistic dream. Pat, what 
did you dream?” “Well,” says Pat, “I dreamt that 
in the middle of the night that I was hungry, so I 
got up and ate the loaf. It’s inside of me now.” 


IRISH MONOLOGUE. 

I saw Teddy Reagan the other day, he told me he 
had been dealing in hogs. “Is business good?” sez I. 
“Yis,” sez he. “Talking about hogs, Teddy, how do 
you find yourself?” sez I. I wint to buy a clock the 
other day, to make a present to Mary Jane. “Will 
you have a Frinch clock?” says the jeweler. “The 
7 




98 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


divil take your Frinch clock,” sez I. “I want a clock 
that my sister can understand when it sthrikes.” “I 
have a Dutch clock,” sez he, “an’ you can put that on 
the sthairs.” “It might run down if I put it there,” 
sez I. “Well,” sez he, “here’s a Yankee clock, with a 
lookin’-glass in the front, so that you can see yourself,” 
sez he. “It’s too ugly,” sez I. “Thin I’ll take the 
lookin’-glass out, an’ whin you look at it you’ll not 
find it so ugly,” sez he. 

I wint to Chatham Street, to buy a shirt, for the one 
I had on was a thrifle soiled. The Jew who kept the 
sthore looked at my bosom an’ said: “Mine Got! how 
long do you vear a shirt?” “Twinty-eight inches,” 
sez I. “Have you any fine shirts?” sez I. “Yis,” sez 
he. “Are thev clane?” sez I. “Yis,” sez he. “Thin, 
you had betther put on one,” sez I. 

You may talk about bringing up childher in the 
way they should go, but I believe in bringing them up 
by the hair of the head. Talking about bringing up 
childher—I hear my childher’s prayers every night— 
the other night I let thim up to bed without thim. I 
skipped and sthood behind the door. I heard the big 
bov say: “Give us this day our daily bread.” The 
little fellow said: “Sthrike him for pie, Johnny.” 


PUMPKIN PIE. 

[A school boy’s recitation.] 

. “Punkin pi iz the sass uv New England. Thev are 
vittles and drink, they are ioy on the half shell, they 
are glory enough for one day, and are good cold or 
warmed up. I would like to be a bov again for iust 
sixty minutes, and fill myself phull of the blessed old 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


99 


mixture. Eny man who don’t love punkin pi needs 
watching cluss, for he means to do something mean 
the fust good chance he gets. Give me all the punkin 
pi I could eat when I wuz a boy, and I didn’t kare a 
cent whether Sunday-school kept that day or not. Now 
that I have grown up to manhood, and run for the 
Legislature once, and only got beat 856 votes, and am 
thoroughly married, there ain’t nothing I hanker after 
wuss and can bury quicker than two-thirds of a punkin 
pi an inch thick and well smelt up with ginger and nut¬ 
meg. Punkin pi is the oldest American beverage I 
kno uv, and ought to go down to posterity with the 
trade mark of our grandmothers on to it; but I am 
afraid it won’t, for it is tuff enough even now to find 
one that tastes in the mouth as it did forty years ago. 
Only poor people eat punkin pi—and that’s right for 
punkin pi was never made for the upper crust.” 


“DANIEL.” 

[An old Darkey recitation.] 

Music plays “Old Dog Tray” very piano and plaintive 
all through the dialogue. 

Come along, Daniel, don’t stop so often to scratch 
yo’self. By’n bye folks’ll think dars somet’ing on you. 
Yes, Daniel is dat yellow dog you see dar. I named 
him after de scripter man dat got chucked into a den 
of lions belongin’ to some menagerie or odder ’way 
back in Babylon. Whar did I get him? Well, sah, I 
picks him up when he was ’most a pup. He was a 
tramp like me and we kinder symphonized wid each 
odder. He was po’ and miserable—so was I Needer 
of us had a fren’ in de work. I ain’t got noffin to 



100 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

give him ’less I gets some cold vittles mysef from de 
white fokes. But he’s got a heart big as a human. 
He won’t tech de las’ crust of bread. He looks up 
in my face much as to say, “Ole nigga, you eat dat. 
You’se hungrier dan I is.” When I tinks how friend¬ 
less I am de tears will come down dese old nigga 
cheeks and Daniel will come up, sah, and lick my face 
as if to say, “Don’t cry, old man, I’m yer frend and I’ll 
stick to you.” Oh, sah! dat dog can almost speak and 
he certinly understans every word I says to him. 
He’s wuth his weight in gold. What’s dat? Sell 
him? Sell de only fren’ I’se got in dis work? I 
knows I need money. I need food and shelter, but I 
can’t part wid Daniel. No, no. I won’t sell him. 
Come along, Daniel, we’ll tramp along and starve to¬ 
gether as we’ve done day after day! [Exit.] 


SECOND TIME ON EARTH. 

[Old Darkey Recitation.] 

’Scuse me, gemmen, fer chippin’ inter yo’ all’s con¬ 
versation. I’se been a list’nin’ to yo’ all’s argifyin’ 
’bout de difif’rent beliefs, and whar we come frum, and 
whar we all’s go to when we die. I must ’low I’se been 
a list’nin’ mighty close to ebbery word, and I can’t help 
from speakin’ a few words wid yo’ all’s permission. 
Tank yo’, gemmen, yo’s all kind to ole Uncle Anna- 
nias Johnson. I heard yo’ all ’splain about de trans- 
mogrifation of de soul, and dat de Hoodoos of Injia 
’bleeve dat we all comes back to dis worl’ agin after 
we dies. Dat is a fact, gemmen—a sure nuff fact. 
Dis is my second time on yearth. We has all been 
on dis yearth befo’. It might have been tousands of 
years ago, but we’se all been yere, but not in de same 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. IOI 

shape. Some of us has been one ting, some has been 
anudder—one a animal, ’nudder a varmint; some a 
libbin’ in de water, or in de woods like a wild beas’. 
Now some of dose niggers a grinnin’ yonder has been 
monkeys up a tree—tousands of years ago may be, 
but dey is monkeys yet—can’t get it outer dar system. 
Now I recollembers very well what I was long, long 
ago on dis yearth, before I died and was transmogri¬ 
fied and born all over agin. Dis was tousands of 
years ago, and in a diff’rent part of de work. I was a 
Fish! I members dat very well—I feel it in my bones 
yet. I ’members well when I was a little bit o’ baby 
fish, a-swimming ’round wid a whole lot of brudders 
and sisters. Golly! but dem was good times and I 
did lib on good tings sure nuff. My mammy used to 
pick out lots o’ nice bugs and wums and gib dem to 
me, and I used to dive up and down in de water from 
breakfas’ to supper and never got tired. And I’d 
drink dat cold water and couldn’t get nuff of it—but 
dat was when I was a fish. What kind o’ fish? Oh, 
a black fish, of course. I had nice scales all obber 
me, and fins like a paddle boat. One day I saw a big, 
fat worm and I made rush for it. 

“Stop!” cried my mammy, “don’t tech dat, chile, dat 
ar ain’t a wum—dat am a hook—and a make-believe 
insex on it. If yo’ bites on dat you’ll get a hook stuck 
in yo’ jaw and away you go—yo’ name’s mud.” 

I couldn’t bleeve dat wasn’t a sure nuff wum. I 
thought my mammy done told me dat to frighten me, 
same as chillun is told ’bout de jam in de pantry. I 
kept a projectin’ ’round dat hook a long time, and my 
mouth was a waterin’ mighty bad, I tell you! All of 
a sudden, ’long comes anudder fish—a bad nigger 
from anudder creek who used to steal from us—not 
water millyuns, for we didn’t have any den, but he’d 
swipe insex and all such good eatings. He couldn’t 
keep his han’s offen odder people’s property—same as 


102 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

some niggers ’roun yere now. Well, gemmen, ’long 
comes dis bad nigger fish, and he was just gwine to 
grab at dis wum when I shot in ahead of him and 
grabbed it myself. Well! if yo’ ever seen splashin’ it 
was done right dar. A hook went into my jaw, and 
I felt myself yanked up froo de water—and dat bad 
nigger laffed at me as I went up. Dat hurt me wuss 
dan de hook. 

In a moment I was out ob de water and was a hop- 
pin’ in de grass—getting my eyes full of sand and 
gravel, and a-fightin’ to ketch my breff. I saw de 
pussun dat had kotched me. He was a fisherman, 
but, bless you, honey! he wasn’t a white man nor from 
dis part of de worl’. He was a Chinyman. I never 
seed one afore, but I reckon from what I’ve heerd since 
dat he was a Chinyman, and dat I was in dat far-off 
country. Dis yaller-faced nigger took me offen de 
hook and let me flop ’round in de grass. I turned a 
lot o’ circus summersets, I tell you, and kep’ a-getting 
weaker and weaker all de time. I kep’ a wishin’ I had 
listened to my mammy fish, and left dat wum alone. I 
tried to roll nearer to de ribber, but it was no use— 
I was too weak and full o’ rumatizz to get very far. 
I ’gin to choke and strangle, and I ’members very well 
what a tuff time I had a dyin’—all de bad tings I ebber 
done when I was a fish kep’ a coming to my min’. 
Den everyting grew dark and I knew I was dead—I 
wasn’t anyting. I had been transmogrified out of dis 
worl’. 

Den a long, long time passed—tousands of years, I 
reckon, when suddenly I comes to myself agin. I 
begins to see daylight and look ’round. But I ain’t 
a fish any mo’—I’m a little nigger pickaninny, and 
I’se got de colic and I’m a squallin’ like a cat. I see 
somebody lookin’ at me. It’s my mammy, but she 
ain’t no fish either. I ain’t got no fins nor paddle tail 
like I used to has—I’se got han’s and feet. I see a lot 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


103 


of odder niggers ’round me workin’ in de cotton-fiel’s, 
and I hears a banjo for de fuss time. I’se back on dis 
yearth agin, but in a diff’rent part of de work—I’se 
in ole Kentucky and near a big ribber. I ’members 
dat I wanted to jump in, and I did. I forgot I wasn’t 
a fish, and came mighty nigh a drawnding, but I was 
yanked out by my mudder. Yes, indeedy, I was lib¬ 
bing agin—born right over and transmogrified from a 
fish to a nigger. 

Well, I kep’ a growin’ and a growin’ all de time. 
Once in a while I feel like a fish, ’cause it’s kind o’ 
second nature to me. When I swims up to de bah 
dat ole feelin’ comes on me. Yo’ all knows dat a 
fish drinks, and I still drinks like a fish. Does any¬ 
body want to see how a fish drinks? Jist buy me dat 
blue grass juice, and I’ll ’lustrate it for you. What! 
drink water? Oh no—dat was good nuff when I was 
a fish, but I needs someting more substantial before I 
gets transmogrified agin. 

I don’t know what I’ll be de nex’ time, and whar 
I’ll come back, so treat me well, gemmen, while yo’s 
got me now. Tank you, Massa Major Charles, yo’ 
always wuzz good to dis ole nigga! I’ll drink yo’ 
health, sure nuff! What’s dat? Yo’ b’leeve I’se a 
old liar and nebber was a fish? Well, jist watch dis 
licker go into my gills and see if it drawnds me. Buy 
nuff of it, Massa Major Charles, and I’ll swallow it 
down. Dat’s de only way I can prove dat once I was 
a fish. 


COMIC RECITATIONS. 

A hungry cat—a foolish rat. 

A lively run—exciting fun. 

Ferocious jaws—paws and claws. 

A dying squeal—pussy’s meal. 

Alas! poor rat—happy cat. 



104 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


“THE HONEYMOON.” 


Newly married, 
Railway carried; 

Sighing. 
At the station 
Osculation; 

Crying. 
Smiling, parting, 
Hands at starting 
Gripping. 
Cozy quarters, 
Guards and porters 
Tipping. 
On the journey 
Glances yearny, 

Mooning. 
Closely sitting, 

As is fitting, 

Spooning. 

Destination! 

Forced cessation, 
Pity! 

Porters poking 
Fun, and joking. 

Witty. 

On arriving, 
Carriage driving; 

Kissing. 


Lovely scenery, 
Lakes and greenery, 
Missing. 
Hotel, table 
d’hote a rabble. 

Shun it! 
Private cover 
Sooner over— 

Done it. 

Champagne drinking; 
Waiter winking, 

Curious! 
People smiling; 

Very riling; 

Furious. 
After dining, 

Arms entwining, 

Walking. 
Sipping honey— 
What’s there funny? 

Talking. 

So time passes; 
Grinning asses 

Guess ’em. 
Newly married, 
Sorely harried— 

Bless ’em. 


A LEEDLE RASKEL. 


I kin saw you, you shly leedle raskel, 

A beckin’ ad me drough dot shair! 

Come here righd avay now und kiss me— 
You dought I don’t know you vas dere; 
You all der dime hide from your fader, 
Und subbose he can’t saw mit his eyes; 
You vas goin’ to fool me—eh, Fritzey?— 
Ung gafe me a grade big surbrise? 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


105 


Dot boy vas a rekular mongkey— 

Dere vas noding so high he don’d glimb— 
Und his mudder she says his drouses 
Vants new bosoms in dem all der dime. 

He vas schmard, dough, dot same leedle feller, 
Und he sings all der vile like a lark, 

From vonce he gids up in der mornin’ 

Dill ve drofe him to bed afder dark. 

He’s der bissiest von in der family, 

Und I bed you de louder he sings 
He vas raisin’ der dickens mit some von— 

He vas up do all manner of dings. 

He vas beckin’ avay, dot young raskel, 
Drough her shair—Moly Hoses, vot’s dat? 
Dot “son-of-a-gun” mit a sceesors 
Is cut off der dail of der cat! 


A SKELETON POEM. 

-Boy, 

-School; 

-Joy, 

-Rule. 

-Round 

-Looks; 

-Found, 

-Crooks. 

-Pin, 

-Ends; 

-Thin, 

-Bends. 

-Chair, 

-Where, 

-“Rare!” 

-“Swear!” 

-Quick, 

-Stick; 

-Thick, 

-Lick. 





















io6 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


- Growl, 

- Scpwl, 

- Howl! 

- Yowl! 


Who visits us with summer heat? 

Who bores us often on the street? 

Who frequently at home we meet? 

Who sails around on pinions fleet? 

Who takes in every free lunch treat? 

Who dines with the poor and the elite? 

Who always gorges on fresh meat? 

Who never deigns to take a treat? 

But always stands upon his feet 
Whenever he’s inclined to eat? 

Who should it be but that petite 
Little biter, with the sweet 

Name, Mosquit? 


A SUMMER IDLE. 


Shady spot, 

Little boy, 

Watermelon— 
Smile of joy. 

Large-sized mouth, 
Open wide, 

Watermelon 

Quick doth hide. 

Summer night 
After frolic; 

Boy is doubled 
Up with colic. 


Mother weeps 
O’er her cares; 
Servants running, 
Father swears. 

Doctor comes, 
Rather gruff, 
Doses boy with 
Nasty stuff. 

Night has flown, 
Colic’s o’er— 
Where’s the melon? 
Boy wants more. 


THE CORK LEG. 

A tale I tell now without any flam, 

In Holland there dwelt Mynheer Vonclam, 
Who every morning said “I am 
The richest merchant in Rotterdam.” 









DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


107 


One day he stuffed himself full as an egg, 

When a poor relation came to beg; 

He kicked him out without broaching a keg, 

And in kicking him out he broke his leg. 

A surgeon—the first in his vocation, 

Came in and made a long oration, 

He wanted a limb for anatomization, 

So finished his job by amputation. 

Said Mynheer, said he, when he’d done his work, 
“By your sharp knife I lose one fork, 

But on two crutches I never will stalk, 

For I’ll have a beautiful leg of cork.” 

An artist in Rotterdam ’twould seem, 

Had made cork legs his study and theme; 

Each joint was as strong as an iron beam, 

The springs a compound of clock-work and steam. 

The leg was made and it fitted right, 

Inspection the artist did invite, 

The fine shape gave Mynheer delight, 

As he fixed it on and secured it tight. 

He walked through square and past each shop, 

Of speed he went to the utmost top; 

Each step he took with a bound and a hop, 

And he found his leg he could not stop. 

Horror and fright were in his face, 

The neighbors thought he was running a race; 

He clung to a lamp-post to stay his pace, 

The leg wouldn’t stay, but kept on the chase. 

Then he called to some men with all his might, 
“Oh, stop this leg, or I’m murdered quite!” 

But though they heard him aid invite, 

He in less than a minute was out of sight. 

He ran o’er hill and dale and plain, 

To ease his weary bones he’d fain; 

To throw himself down, he tried; but all in vain, 
The leg got up and was off again. 


io8 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


He walked of days and nights a score. 

Of Europe he had made the tour; 

He died—but though he was no more, 

The leg walked on the same as before. 

In Holland sometimes comes in sight, 

A skeleton on a cork leg tight 
No cash did the artist’s skill requite, 

He never was paid—and it served him right. 

My tale I’ve told both plain and free, 

Of the rummest rich merchant that could be, 
Who never was buried—though dead we see, 
And I’ve been singing his L-E-G! 


TAKES IT JUST THE SAME. 

How often in the crowded car 
You’ve risen to your feet 

To give a woman who comes in 
The comfort of a seat. 

“Oh, no; I thank you,” she protests; 
“I’d really feel to blame; 

I don’t at all mind standing”—but 
She takes it just the same. 

The friend you ask to have a drink 
Says alcohol’s a curse; 

It never does men any good, 

And always makes them worse; 

Men never know just when to quit, 
’Tis really a shame; 

He greatly disapproves it—but 
He takes it just the same. 


A POEM FROM BOSTON. 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, now you won’t know what 
you are. 

Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific! 

Fain would I fathom thy nature specific, 

Loftily poised in ether capacious, 

Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous! 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


109 


When torrid Phoebus refuses his presence, 

And ceases to lamp us with fierce incandescence, 
Then you illuminate the regions supernal— 
Scintillate, scintillate, semper nocturnal. 

Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination 
Gratefully hails your minute coruscation; 

He could not determine his journey’s direction 
But for your bright scintillating protection. 


SIGNS. 

Upsetting a cup of tea in your lap. Sign you’ll get 
scalded if the tea is hot. To avoid it, don’t upset the 
tea. 

To awake and hear mysterious sounds in your room 
at night. Sign that rats or robbers are around. Usu¬ 
ally rats, as robbers are more quiet. To avoid it, keep 
six cats, four dogs and several revolvers, or else sleep 
so soundly that you won’t wake up. 

To meet a cross-eyed friend, is a sign that you’ll 
bow to him when he isn’t looking at you, and when he 
does look at you and bow, that you’ll think he’s look¬ 
ing and bowing to some one across the street. Result, 
he will think you are trying to slight him, and he will 
get mad. To avoid it, don’t make the acquaintance of 
cross-eyed people. 

To hear cats fighting under your window, is a sign 
that the air will soon be full of missiles and profanity. 
To avoid it—scientists have struggled with the prob¬ 
lem for ages and finally declare it to be unavoidable. 

To look at an object and see that instead of one 
object there are several, is a sign that the object is 
very drunk. To avoid it, drink nothing stronger than 
soda-water. 

To call on a friend and find a bent pin in the chair, 



no 


DUMONTS JOKE BOOK. 


is a sign that there’s a ten-year-old boy in the family. 
To avoid it, look in the chair carefully before you sit 
down. 

To meet the same girl three times in the same even¬ 
ing on the street, is a sign that she won’t be home until 
she makes a “pick-up.” It takes a very watchful mo¬ 
ther to avoid this evil omen. 

To see an old man dressed in the latest fashion, a 
button-hole bouquet in his coat, a cane in his hand, 
and his hair carefully licked over the bald part of his 
head, is a sign he will be seen in the front seat at the 
variety theater. To avoid the evil part of the omen, 
avoid the widower. 

To hear a dog howling all night under your window 
is a sign of death—if you can get your shotgun quick 
enough. 


“CASABIANCA” UP TO DATE. 


The boy stood on the front-door stoop, nor thought of dan¬ 
ger near; 

He cared not for her father’s boot—in short, he knew no 
fear. 

He took out his pocket-mirror and paused for an instant 
there 

To remove his nice new derby and to smooth his oily hair, 

Then grasped the handle gently and timidly rang the bell, 

For he knew that her harsh old father hated him worse than 
—anything. 

A moment of painful waiting, a moment of anxious doubt, 

And the door was swiftly opened, while a foot flew quickly 
out. 

A moment of quiet agony, a moment of silent suspense, 

And the young man lurched through the atmosphere and 
hung himself on the fence. 

A horrible shriek of anguish, a loud, obstreperous whoop, 

And the young man flew down the avenue with his coat¬ 
tails in the soup. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Ill 


CONUNDRUMS. 

What games are most played by soldiers? Hazard 
and picket. 

Why is the letter K like a pig’s tail? Because it is 
at the end of pork. 

What was the color of the wind and waves in a 
storm? The wind blue—the waves rose. 

A modern spinning-wheel—the bicycle. 

Inform us concerning the difference between a sol¬ 
dier fighting in battle and one who has had his legs 
shot off? One must discharge his musket, the other 
mus’ get his discharge. 

If I were to see you riding on a donkey, what fruit 
should I be reminded of? A pair. 

What flowers are there between a lady’s nose and 
chin? Two-lips. 

Why is a woman’s beauty like a ten-dollar green¬ 
back? Because when once changed it soon goes. 

Why is a girl like an arrow? Because she is sure to 
be in a quiver till her beau comes, and can’t go off 
without one. 

What letter in the Dutch alphabet will name an 
English lady of title? A Duch—S. 

What fashionable game do frogs play at, besides 
leap-frog? Croaky. 

Why is a judge’s nose like the middle of the earth? 
Because it is the center of gravity. 

Do you know what the oldest piece of furniture in 
the world is? The multiplication-table. 

Why are cats like unskilled surgeons? They mew- 
till-late and destroy patients. 

Why is a dirty boy like flannel? Because he shrinks 
from washing. 

Why is a dog’s tail a great novelty? Because no 
one saw it before. 


112 


DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


Where is it that all women are equally beautiful? 
A sly friend promptly replies, “Why in the dark, of 
course.” 

What islands would form a cheerful luncheon party? 
Friendly Society, a Sandwich, and Madeira. 

Why do tee-totalers run such a slight risk of drown¬ 
ing? Because they know how to keep their nose 
above water. 

Why is a rheumatic person like a glass window? 
Because he is full of pains. 

The downward path—the one with a banana-skin 
on it. 

Why does lightning turn milk sour? Because it 
doesn’t know how to conduct itself. 

Why should a chicken hatched by steam be closely 
watched? Because his mother does not know he is 
out. 

The difference between perseverance and obstinacy 
—the first is a strong will; the second is a strong 
won’t. 


ALL SORTS. 

A handy fan—the palm. 

A man of learning—the spy. 

Well-known club men—the police. 

Of course, stolen corn is cribbed. 

Helps one get on—the gang plank. 

Actors stalk without saying a word. 

Even cordial medicine is not always cordially re¬ 
ceived. 

As long as a girl has a piano she doesn’t discard 
bangs. 

In the circle in which they move the hands of a 
watch have their own set. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


113 

Speaking of candy and ice cream, most girls have a 
sweet disposition. 

Rival liverymen should be able to make some good 
bargain drives. 

In the summer the country is a nice place to spend 
both time and money. 

Is it necessary to be accurate at figures to work in a 
counting house? 

Both in the suburbs and the dry goods stores, lawns 
come by the yard. 

In counting themselves, hotel guests reckon with¬ 
out their host. 

Those who boast of their family trees should re¬ 
member that “by their fruits ye shall know them.” 

Sometimes a whisky straight causes a man to go 
crooked. 

This is the beginning of the open season for street 
cars. 

Nobody would think it childish for a condemned 
man to skip the rope. 

No matter how much you argue, you cannot make 
a cross-eyed man look at a thing as you do. 

The man who doesn’t get up promptly must expect 
to be called down. 

She’s not a musician, 

Although ’tis her art 
To play on the organ 
We call a man’s heart 


Fin£ cut—hash. 

Braced up—trousers. 

Out of debt and in love—“1.” 

Not to be pitted—seedless raisins. 

Do politicians get good schooling in the primaries? 
A cradle song cannot honestly be cribbed. 

The bow of a ship is not its salute. 

8 



114 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

The dogwood tree barks, but it never bites. 

In hot weather the thicker a dog’s coat the shorter 
his pants. 

The hand-organs prove that much grinding does 
not make music fine. 

If you have neither carriage nor bicycle, the merry- 
go-round will assist you in taking a turn in the park. 

He proposed, and she gladly accepted, 

And strange, then, it surely would seem, 

That a coolness should spring up between them 
At once, unless this may explain it— 

The thing he proposed was ice cream. 


IN WASHINGTON. 

“What do you think? Young Trott proposed to 
Belle, and he is only a page.” 

“What did she do?” 

“Why, turned him down.” 


THE ARMY AND ITS SOLDIERS. 

End.—Say, Spain discovered this country, didn’t 
she? I guess she’s sorry now. I hear they go and 
expectorate on Columbus’ grave. Didn’t hear about 
me in Cuba, did you? I put a rope around Cuba and 
hauled it over here. It will be a bully [Toughest ward 
in town] ward for this city. 

Mid.—Yon are quite a military man. 

End.—I should say I was. Everything with me is 
military from the word go. 

Mid.—What is a kiss? 

End.—A report at headquarters. 




DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


115 

Mid.—What are little babies? 

End.—Little raw recruits in arms. 

Mid.—What is a married man? 

End.—He’s a marine. Always in the guardhouse 
or under orders. 

Mid.—What is a married lady? 

End.—She’s the commander. She’s a whole army 
and looking for war. 

Mid.—What is a young lady? 

End.—Oh, she’s a non-commissioned officer. She 
will be on the staff and make some fellow surrender. 

Mid.—What are old bachelors? 

End.—Oh, they’re old armv mules, they don’t count. 

Mid.—What are old maids? 

End.—Hard tack and old junk. 

Mid.—What are ladies in general? 

End.—The best recruiting officers we have to raise 
“infantry” for Uncle Sam. 


THE MULE BATTERY. 

Mid.—Where have you been? 

End.—With the army and navy in Cuba. The navy 
had to leave Key West, for the government said it was 
too expensive to keep the navy in “Florida water.” 
So we sailed for Santiago. I did more damage there 
than anyone. I sat on the deck of one of our war¬ 
ships and destroyed half of the town. 

Mid.—With dynamite? 

End.—No, ordinary peanuts. I’d eat them and 
throw the shells at the Spaniards. If you ever go out 
fishing—in a boat—and you should see a Spanish war 
vessel coming don’t be afraid—just pull up your line 
and sinker. When we landed on Cuban soil I had 
charge of a mule battery—cannons mounted on the 



II6 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

backs of mules. You turn the mule around and fire 
at the enemy. Oh! It’s a great thing! I had my 
mule—I mean cannon—loaded to the muzzle, and 
when I blazed away at the garlic eaters, off went 
cannon, mule, and the whole business, right into the 
Spanish army, just swiping them right and left. The 
Spanish general yelled out “Stop! We can stand 
pistols, swords and dynamite, but when you fire Yan¬ 
kee mules at us we surrender!” 


ON THE BATTLEFIELD. 

End.—Fve been all through the campaigns; IVe 
smelt powder. 

Mid.—Where? 

End.—On the ladies’ cheeks. But really Tve been 
a soldier. I was in the same regiment as Mike Mori- 
arity. Funny thing happened to him at the battle of 
Monzy-gue-easy-la! 

Mid.—What is the name? 

End.—I can’t say it again. It’s one of those Cuban 
towns on the cough lozenges. 

Mid.—The Trocha! 

End.—Yes, troches. Well, when the battle was 
going on Mike kept a shooting and killing Spaniards 
until the captain says, “Mike, how many have you 
killed?” “Twenty-nine,” says Mike.” “All right,” 
says the captain, “You’ve killed enough for one day; 
go to the rear and give somebody else a chance.” So 
Mike started back and on his way he saw a comrade 
with both legs shot off. “Oh, Mike,” says the man, 
“Take me on your back and carry me to the hospital; 
both of my legs are shot off.” So Mike put the man 
on his back, and as he was taking him to the hospital 
along came a cannon ball and took the wounded man’s 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


II 7 

head right off. Mike kept on and coming to the hos¬ 
pital he put the man on his back upon a table. “What 
do you mean by bringing a corpse in here?” says the 
doctor, “Don’t you see the man’s dead? His head 
is shot off!” Mike looked at the body and says, “The 
lying thief of the world; he told me it was his legs that 
were shot off.” 


BRAVERY IN BATTLE. 

End.— 


We didn’t want to fight, 

But, by thunder, when we did, 

The mouth of hades rumbled 
And our tars took off the lid. 

Mid.—I like your warlike poetry. 

End.—I’ll give you some more. It’s all out of my 
own head. 

“Give us arms!” cried General Gomez, 

“If you want to see some fun!” 

“Give us legs!” cried General Blanco, 

“And we’ll show you how to run!” 

Mid.—That’s good. It’s heroic poetry. 

End.—Yes, they write a lot praising the comman¬ 
ders and big fellows, but here’s one—“Credit to whom 
credit is due”—listen: 

A cheer and salute for the admiral, and here’s to the captain 
bold, 

And never forget the commodore’s debt when the deeds of 
might are told! 

They stand to the deck thro’ the battle’s wreck when the 
great shells roar and screech— 

And never they fear when the foe is near to practice what 
they preach. 

But off with your hat and three times three for Columbia’s 
true-blue sons, 

The men below who batter the foe—the men behind the guns! 



Il8 DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 

Mid.—That’s very true and apropos. 

End.—You didn’t know that I shouldered a gun and 
went to lick the Spaniards. You bet I did. Oh! We 
were in one battle and the bullets flew so thick that 
they hid the sun. There I had to stand in the open 
plain and be a target. 

Mid.—Why didn’t you hide behind a tree? 

End.—I couldn’t; all the officers were behind trees. 
I guess I must have cut off the legs of over twenty 
Spaniards. 

Mid.—Cut their legs off? Why didn’t you cut their 
heads off? 

End.—Somebody had cut ’em off a few days before 
I got there. 


SORRY HE DIDN’T TAKE IT “COLD.” 

End.—How nice it is to dream and imagine you’re 
happy over what you dream. 

Mid.—Dreams are pleasant fabrics of the imagina¬ 
tion. 

End.—I had a peculiar dream. I dreamed I was 
in a temperance town and my tongue was hanging 
out for a drink. There came a rap at the door and 
the landlord entered. He says, “I’ll bet you’d like 
to have a drink. Now, I can get it for you. What 
will you have? I’ll bring it up.” I says, “Well, let’s 
see, I’ll have a hot whiskey.” The landlord says, “A 
hot whiskey? Well, I’ll have to go down stairs and 
get the hot water.” And he started down for it. 
While he was gone after it I woke up. Now I’ve been 
kicking myself ever since that I didn’t take cold whis¬ 
key! 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


119 


TAXES ON LUXURIES. 

End.—My brother had a narrow escape yesterday. 
The cook put concentrated lye into the biscuits instead 
of baking powder It came near skinning him alive. 

Mid.—It’s a wonder it didn’t kill him. 

End.—He hasn’t been able to tell the truth since. 
Funny, isn’t it, how people live? 

Mid.—Half of the world doesn’t know how the other 
half lives. 

End.—Half of the world lives on wind—lawyers, 
book agents, bicycle cranks and fellows like you. But 
everybody’s going to be taxed, I hear, for the war 
debt. They’re going to tax all luxuries. They’d ought 
to tax old bachelors, for they’re a luxury. Going to 
tax eggs, too. By the way, eggs cost seventeen dol¬ 
lars apiece in Alaska! 

Mid.—Why? 

End.—The hens out there have to wear sealskin 
sacks. They’re going to tax all the toothless people 
because there’s a revenue on gum. Old maids are 
going to be taxed also. 

Mid.—Under what schedule could they be taxed? 

End.—Dried fruit and old dates. Kissing, though, 
won’t be bothered; that won’t be taxed. In this town 
it’s free raw material. 


THE NEW POET. 

End.— 

Walls have ears 
And bells have tongues; 
Rivers have mouths 
And bellows have lungs; 



120 DUMONTS JOKE BOOK. 


Potatoes have “eyes” 

And trees will shoot. 

Oaks from acorns 
Soon take root. 

Saws have teeth 
To bite perchance; 

Pigeons have “cotes” 

And dogs have “pants.” 

Mid.—You are quite a poet. 

End.—Well, I should say so. I’ll give you another: 

If we, as Mr. Darwin says, 

From monkeys are descended, 

Old Time, in changing things, hath not 
As yet the matter mended. 

The olden way’s the happiest way, 

The new condition fails. 

So Darwin, if you can, my boy, 

Just give us back the tails. 

Now, here’s something else for you if you’re good 
at riddles. There were three men; there was a blind 
man; a man without any arms or legs, and a man 
without any clothes on. The blind man saw a bird; 
the man without any arms or legs picked up a gun 
and shot the bird; then the man without any legs or 
arms ran after the bird and picked it up, and the man 
with no clothes on put it in his pocket. What is it? 

Mid.—Well, what was it? 

End.—A great big lie; it never happened. 


“PATRIOTIC ALPHABET” 

End.—If there was another war you’d find me, 
sword in hand, ready to go. I’d be one of the first 
to go—and see the boys off. 

Mid.—You are not very patriotic. 



DUMONT’S JOKE BOOK. 


121 


End.—Yes I am, but I use a lot of discretion with it. 
I’ve composed a new patriotic alphabet. Would you 
like to hear it? 

Mid.—Very much. Begin. 

End.— 


A—stands for America, the best land to me. 

B—is the Battles we fought to be free. 

C—stands for Columbia, who rules this great land. 

D—stands for Dewey, who did Spain up grand. 

E—is for Eagle, the bird that is brave. 

F—stands for Flag—’twill ne’er cease to wave. 

G—stands for Gun Boats; we’ve a navy at last. 

H—stands for Havana; ’twas Spain’s in the past. 

I—stands for “Iron” that we shoot with our might. 

J—stands for Jackets of blue that can fight. 

K—stands for Key West, where our fleet can be seen. 

L—is for Loyaltv that each American does mean. 

M—stands for McKinley, the man in the right place. 

N—stands for Navy that Spaniards can’t chase. 

O—is for Oregon, the best ship afloat. 

P—stands for Powder they’ve got on that boat. 

Q—stands for Queen—in Spain did reside. 

R—stands for Revenge that we got far and wide. 

S—stands for Sampson, who victory did gain. 

T—stands for Triumph—“Remember the Maine.” 

U—stands for Union, now firmer than all. 

V—stands for Volunteers ready for Uncle Sam’s call. 

W—stands for Washington, who struck the first blow. 

X—is for ’Xtra ones we’ve put in, you know. 

Y—is Yankee Doodle, with his banner unfurled. 

Z—is the “Zeal” to whip the whole world. And you bet we 
can do it! 


TNI DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 


l897—l898. 

New Ethiopian Dramas. 

Price, 15 cents each. 


The following plays are all by the well known minstrel man Frank Dnmoni. 
Each one has been successful on the professional stage bat now for the first 
time is presented in printed form. Full and minute stage directions accom¬ 
pany each book of the play, and Mr. Dumont has made them very complete in 
every respect. Several of these plays may be played white face. 

Cake Walk. Farce in one scene by Frank Dumont. 
Fourteen characters, half of them in female dress. Plays 
fifteen minutes. The Cake Walk is one of the most character¬ 
istic darkey entertainments and this farce presents all of its 
ludicrous situations. The plain interior scene can be easily 
arranged and the properties are as simple. The “cake,” “the 
bad coon,” and the fat wench’s antics are all side splittingly 
funny. 

False Colors. A black sketch in two scenes by Frank 
Dumont. Three male characters. Plays twenty minutes. A 
street and an interior scenes. One character appears in mili¬ 
tary dress with pistols and sword in belt, the remaining two 
characters are typical tramps at first and then disguise them¬ 
selves in outlandish military uniforms. The fun is slow and 
dry but bursts into uproarious burlesque at the end. 

How to Get a Divorce. Farce in one act by Frank 
Dumont. Fight male, three female characters, beside “ a jury 
and other bits of judicial brie a brae.” Plays fifteen minutes. 
This is a farce which is very funny played with white faces 
although originally written for minstrels. The scene is a 
court room and Judge Alimony separates three happy couples, 
before Mrs. Alimony breaks up the court proceedings. 

Jack Sheppard and Joe Blueskin, or Amateur 
Road Agents. Melodramatic burlesque in one act, by 
Frank Dumont. Six characters. Plays twenty minuteo. 
landscape scene. This is done for minstrels. The two des¬ 
peradoes, Jack and Joe are very funny and the piece acted 
with spirit is a sure hit. The dialogue gives opportunity for 
apfT amount of business and is full of genuine darkey humor* 



THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY’S CATALOGUE 


NEW ETHIOPIAN DRAMAS.—Continued. 


The Lady Barber. Sketch in one scene by Frank Du¬ 
mont. Four characters, two of them appear in female dress. 
Plays twenty minutes. Scene—a barber shop. This is one of 
Mr. Dumont’s strongest plays. The fun begins immediately 
when the proprietor induces the white-wash man to assume 
the dress of a lady and take charge of the customers and in¬ 
creases until the shop is cleared out in a fast and furiously 
funny manner. 

Other People’s Troubles. An eccentricity in one 
scene by Frank Dumont. Three male, two female characters. 
Interior scene. Plays fifteen minutes. This sketch may be 
played white or black face and has been successful on the pro¬ 
fessional stage, Lew Dockstader making a fine Zack. The 
play is a “screamer,” full of smart sayings and funny situa¬ 
tions. The end is a rattling climax of merriment. 

The Serenade Party; or, The Miser’s Troubles. 

A black sketch in one act, by Frank Dumont. Four characters, 
one in female dress. Plays twenty minutes. Interior scene. 
A popular professional sketch. The miser and his servant’s 
efforts to deceive one another and their guests are uproariously 
funny. Here is great opportunity for fine business and full 
directions are given by the author in every book of the play. 

Too Little Vagrants; or, Beware of Tramps. 

Farce in one act by Frank Dumont. Three male, one female 
characters. Plays twenty minutes. One exterior scene. May 
be produced white or black face. This play introduces two 
of the most comical of tramp characters. The position of one 
of them forced to stand as a scare crow is very funny. There 
is nothing offensive in the bright and rapid dialogue. 

The Undertaker’s Daughter. Farce in one act, by 
Frank Dumont. Three male, one female characters. Plays 
twenty-five minutes. Plain chamber scene. This play may 
be given white or black face, and has been successful each 
way on the professional stage. The motive, dialogue and 
action all very original, bring screams of laughter from all 
audiences. Full stage directions accompany the book of the 
play. 






_ THE DRAMATIC PUBIISHIHC COMPAMY'S CATAtOOUE 

NEW PLAYS, 1897-98. 

The First Kiss. 

Comedy in One Act, 

MAURICE HAGEMAN, 

Anthor “ By Telephone,” ** A Crazy Idea,” Etc. 

One male, one female characters. Plays twenty minutes. 
Scene, a handsomely furnished room. Costumes, afternoon 
dress of to-day. This sketch- presents an entirely new plot, 
with novel situations and business. The fun is continuous 
and the dialogue bright and refined. Price, IS cents. 


Bird’s Island. 

Drama in Four Acta, 

BY 

MRS. SALLIE F. TOLER. 

Author of “ Handicapped,” Etc. 

Five male (may be played with four), four female char¬ 
acters. One exterior, two interior scenes. Costumes, summer 
costumes of to-day. Plays two and one-half hours. This is 
one of the strongest dramas since “East Lynne.’* Thrilling 
situations abound and the comedy element is equally strong. 
The drama is strong in character parts, the plot including a 
blind man, an Englishman, who is not slow in every sense of 
the word, an Irishman, a Scotchwoman, a Creole maid and a 
charming soubrette, all of whom are star parts. The profes¬ 
sional stage will find this a drawing and paying play — but 
amateurs can easily produce it. Price, 25 cents. 


Hector. 

Farce in One Act , 

BY 

MAURICE HAGEMAN. 

Author of “FirstKiss,” “A Crazy Idea,” Etc. 

Six male, two female characters. Plays forty-five minutes. 
Costumes, one messenger boy’s, man and woman servants, a 
dudish young man, a flashy Hebrew, and lady and gentle¬ 
man’s street dress. Scene, a well furnished reception room. 
This farce has been a great success among professionals. 
The situations are so funny they can not be spoiled by the 
most inexperienced actors. The dialogue keeps up a constant 
hurrah in the audience. Hector, the dog, forms the central 
idea of the plot of the play, but need not be seen at any 
time unless a suitable animal is at hand. Price. 15 cents. 






THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 


NEW PLAYS , 1897-98. 

Diamonds and Hearts, 

Comedy Drama in Three Acts, 

BY 

EFFIE W. MERRIMAN. 

Author of “Socials,” “Pair of Artists,” “Maud Muller,” Etc., Etc. 

Four male, five female characters. Plays two hours. Cos¬ 
tumes of to-day for house and street. Three interior scenes. 
Fach character in this play is original and life-like. The 
three pretty young ladies have each a marked individuality, 
as have also the young doctor and young villain. The bach¬ 
elor farmer has no rival unless we except the leading roles in 
“ Denman Thompson,” and “ Shore Acres.” He is a homespun 
lovable man and the scene in his home with his equally at¬ 
tractive sister is one of the strongest in the play. The drama 
is full of comedy, pathos and country life of the most whole¬ 
some nature. The story possesses an intense dramatic inter¬ 
est. Price, 25 cents. 


An American Harem, 

Comedietta in One Act. 

Two male, five female characters. Plays twenty minutes. 
Costumes are ordinary street dress, except travelling suit for 
one man and very elaborate house dress for the servant. 
Scene, a handsomely furnished parlor. Frank’s young wife 
suddenly disappears from home in a fit of temper, at the same 
time that his old college chum as suddenly appears to pay him 
a visit. His Irish servant, his mother, his sister and his 
cousin, with the best intentions of helping him out of the 
scrape, present themselves as his wife and the fun that ensues 
is immense. The comic situations arising from these com¬ 
plications are unlimited and the way in which the bright and 
sparkling dialogue works them out, keeps the audience con¬ 
vulsed from first to last. It is a play which furnishes oppor¬ 
tunity for the highest class of acting, but at the same time if 
the players simply walk through it, it will make a hit every 
time. 

It is easily staged as no scenery is required and the cos¬ 
tuming and properties are always at hand. Pric^ lfi cents. 




THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 

NEW PLAYS, 1897-98. 


A Modern Proposal, 


Duologue in One Act, 

BT 


MARSDEN BROWN, 

Author of, M A Bold Stratagem,” “A Passing Cloud,” Etc. 


One male, one female characters. A drawing-room scene. 
Costumes should be ordinary evening dress. Plays fifteen 
minutes. The best performers will welcome this two part 
comedy with the greatest cordiality. It is entirely new and 
very novel in situation and dialogue. All the changes seemed 
to have been rung upon a “ proposal ” scene for a young man 
and woman but Mr. Brown surprises us with an entirely new 
one. The dialogue is the most refined comedy, under which is 
shown at times strong feeling. Price, 15 cents. 



Comedy in Pour Acts , 

BT 


MAURICE HAGEMAN, 


Ten male, eight female characters. Costumes of to-day. 
One interior scene. Plays two and one-half hours. A jealous 
husband suddenly decides to put his house in the care of his 
nephew and take his wife and daughter to travel because he is 
possessed of the idea that his wife has a lover. The 
nephew is impecunious and a young colored friend persuades 
him to rent the house to roomers and take him for a servant. 
The fun then begins. Each lodger is a strong character part 
and they get themselves and their landlord and his servant into 
most amusing scrapes. However all ends well. 

The one scene required makes it a play easily produced on 
any stage where there are sufficient exits. The dialogue is 
very strong and keeps every audience in roars of laughter 
from beginning to end. There is no better comedy written 
than “ A Crazy Idea.” Price. 25 cents. 




_ THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 

NEW PLAYS , 1897-98 . 

All Due to the Management. 

A Monologue for a. Gentleman, 

BY 

HELEN M. LOCKE. 

Author of “ A Victim of Woman’s Rights,” Etc. 

Plays fifteen minutes. Scene, a comfortable sitting-room 
with a writing table. Costume, first overcoat and hat, which 
when removed discloses a plain sack suit. A gentleman is 
left at home by his wife to keep house while she is in the 
country resting. He attempts to write a magazine article 
while attending to his household duties. The result is a 
wrecking of his self complacency, his work as an author and 
the tidiness of the house. He finally leaves to recuperate 
with his wife in the country. It is an A 1 monologue. Price, 
15 cents. 


A Pair of Lunatics, 

A Dramatic Sketch in One Act, 

BY 

W. R. WALKES. 

Author of “Villain and Victim,” “Rain Clouds,” Etc., Etc- 
One male, one female characters. Plays fifteen minutes. 
Scene, a back parlor. Ordinary evening dress. This is among 
the most successful two-part sketches used at present. It is 
full of action and bright dialogue. The two characters mis¬ 
take one another for lunatics and the fun that ensues is im¬ 
mense. This edition is well printed. Price, 15 cents. 


A Passing Cloud. 

A Monologue for a Lady. 

BY 

MARSDEN BROWN, 

Author “Bold Stratagem,” “A Modern Proposal,” Etc. 

Plays fifteen minutes. Handsome dinner costume and 
any pretty room. A handsome young woman is dressed for a 
dinner at her mother’s house, and is waiting for her husband 
to return from business to accompany her. He is detained 
far beyond the time at which she expects him to arrive and 
she passes through a succession of emotions in consequence. 
This monologue can be presented before the most critical 
audiences with entire success. Price, 15 cent*. 






THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY'S CATALOGUE 


NEW PLAYS , 1897-98 . 

Conrad, 

OR, 

The Hand of a Friend. 

Drama in Three Acts, 

BY 

FRANK DUMONT. 

Anthor of ‘'Undertaker’s Daughter,” “Too Little Vagrants,” Etc. 

Ten male, two female and one child characters. Plays 
two and one-half hours. Two exterior, one interior of hut 
scenes. Costumes modern and wild-western. This western 
drama is full of startling- situations and thrilling- incidents. 
It has been a most successful professional drama and pleases 
everybody and can be produced on a large or small stage. 
The book of the play gives the most minute stage directions, 
which have all been tried for several seasons on the regular 
professional stage. Repertoire companies will find this play a 
“ winner,” while amateurs will find it entirely free from any¬ 
thing objectionable in dialogue and a play that is easily pro¬ 
duced. Conrad is a German character part which in the hands 
of a competent man may be made a star part, for he is given 
opportunity for much strong acting. However, there are six 
other strong characters. The Irish Servant and leading woman 
are good, and the Jew and the escaped convict, the half 
starved comedian are all excellent. Price, 25 cents, 


By Telephone. 

Sketch in One Act, 

MAURICE HAGEMAN. 

One male, one female characters. Plays twenty minutes. 
Scene, a handsome room. Costumes of to-day, the gentleman 
any suit except evening dress; the lady, any elegant costume. 
This strong little comedy sketch is full of action and new 
business, full directions for which are given in the book of 
the play. The dialogue is refined and brilliant and will please 
all audiences. A wealthy young society man is introduced to 
the notice of a young woman with an income also, as a poor 
photographer. A mutual interest is developed and the scene 
played is when the young woman comes to his improvised 
studio to sit for her picture for which arrangements have been 
‘‘by telephone.” The situation it will be seen is new and 
novel and the dialogue is the most refined comedy. There is 
no finer twenty minute sketch for two people. Price, 15 cents. 




DIAMONDS AND HEARTS 

A Comedy Drama in Three Acts. 

By EFFIE W. MERRIMAN. 

Price, 25 Cents. 


This new play has bounded at once into a wide popularity. 
The good plot, the strong “heart*’ interest, and the abundant 
comedy all combine to m ike a most excellent drama. “Bub” 
Barnes is a fine character of the Josh Whitcomb type, and his 
sister is a worthy companion “bit.” Sammy is an excruciatingly 
funny little darky. The other characters are good. Fine oppor¬ 
tunity for introducing specialties. The play has so many good 
points that it never fails to be a success. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

Bernice Halstead, a young lady of eighteen,with an affection of 

the heart, a love for fun and hatred of arithmetic. 

Amy Halstead, her sister, two years younger, fond of frolic.... 
Inez Gray, a young lady visitor willing to share in the fun.... 
Mrs. Halstead, a widow, and stepmother to the Halstead girls. 
Hannah Mary Barnes, or “Sis,”a maiden lady who keeps house 

for her brother. 

Dwight Bradley, a fortune hunter and Mrs. Halstead’s son by 

a former marriage.. 

Dr. Burton, a young physician. 

Sammy, the darky bell-boy in the Halstead house... 

Abraham Barnes, or “Bub,” a yankee farmer still unmarried at 

forty—a diamond in the rough . 

Attorney; Sheriff. 

Time of playing, two hours. 

Two interior scenes. Modern costumes. 

SYNOPSIS OF INCIDENTS: 

ACT I. Parlor of the Halstead home. _ The young doctor. The three girls 
plot to make his acquaiutaace. An affection of the heart. “Easy to fool a 
young doctor,” but not so* easy after all. The stepmother and her son. The 
stolen diamonds. The missing will Plot to win Bernice. “I would not marry 
Dwight Bradley for all the wealth the world contains.” Driven from home. 

ACT. II. Kitchen of the Barnes’ farm house, Bub takes off his boots. 
The new school ma’am. “Supoer’s ready.” “This is our nephey and he’s a 
doctor.” Recognition. A difficult problem in arithmetic. The doctor to the 
rescue. “I’m just the happiest girl in the world.” “I’ve come to pop the 
question, an’ why don’t I do it?” Brother and sister. “If it’s a heifer, it’s teh 
be mine.” The sheriff. Arrested for stealing the diamonds. “Let me knock 
yer durned head off.” The jewels found in Bernice’s trunk. 

ACT. III. Parlor of the Ha'sted home. “That was a lucky stroke—hiding 
those diamonds in her trunk.” The schemer’s plot miscarries. Abe and 
Sammy join hands. The lawyer. “Bully for her.” Bradley tries to escape 
“No, yeh don’t!” Arrested. “It means, dear, that you are to be persecuted no 
more ” Wedding presents, and a war dance around them. "It is no trick at 
all to fool a young doctor.” 











PLAYS. 

B EING the largest theatrical booksellers in 
the United States, we keep in stock the most 
complete and best assorted lines of plays and 
entertainment books to be found in this country 

We can supply any play or book pub¬ 
lished. We have issued a 120-page catalogue 
of the best 1500 plays and entertainment books 
published in the U. S. and England. It con¬ 
tains a full description of each play, giving 
number of characters, time of playing, scenery, 
costumes, etc. This catalogue will be sent free 
on application. 

The plays described are suitable for am¬ 
ateurs and professionals, and nearly all of them 
may be performed free of royalty. Persons in¬ 
terested in dramatic books should examine our 
catalogue before ordering elsewhere. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company, 

CHICAGO. 


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